Pale and leery, alone in bed, Alone in bed, pale and leery, Unawake and lively-weary, Selfless as coming slumber numb, My speaking self a word of wind Sighing simply "Nevermind" Til I one nothing do become, Selfless, single, pale and weary. The slow lightning of moonrise, The cloudscape depths of pearl, Consecrate my mood and room, Entomb me like a knight-at-arms, Cross-handed, on his final pallet carved: My feet in pale armor sheathed, setting forth To no Jerusalem. Dead men wail In the woeful wind that pushes All aside from the frowning moon. The moon in bone-blank vision nearing, Cold and haughty, a dead man's face, Through the pulled-back curtain shines Pale and weary and alone. The quiet casement looking in Unquiet undream apprehends, Forlorn beyond the memory of friends: Here my human heart in dread Lingers loath on what had been said. How softly sounds the shell of sleep Calling our visions to its verge That had not otherwise been so deep; How softly sounds the shell of sleep! Traffic of splashes, remote yet near, Small edges blent to one static shush As even now the boat draws clear.... Softly, softly, Windemere. When our causes, obscure as eddies, At last had crested to their crisis, I failed the fathoming! My love I let recede when tolled the tide, An unwinning and a winless game, In violentest crash the green reef Cracking, killing. Hush! now the frowning moon's a man, Shadow from wed shadow departing, Nimble-light as moth-wings darting: You come in sorrow into the room, Ghost of exhausted meditations, And at the bed's foot look sadly down, All silvered-over as if in snow. Dear live ghost of my living ghost, Memory sacred, not serene! Self-salving waters of the breast That spill in richness mixed with dust, Sigh your human blessing in the night! Come, tears! Let your salt effluence Replace the bitter pourings of the moon! Here am I in my human minim, Unperspectivized man Too naked now to endure the cold Howsoe'er endued with warmth I once was. Let salt pelt out salt til salt alone Weeps into being our green souls. The nightmare, the scar, is here, here. Like a battery's pile grown large With potential charge-- would but some salt water Soak and connect their shocks! Those memories are high-piled That wait for charitable water To flood from my unfortunate eyes-- Then-- oh what mystery and what light! The shore recedes, and recedes the day, Softly, softly in sweet delay Until all shore is shorelessness And a damping fog is in the eye Turned outward-inward in the mist. And then, what wetness?