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away from the road 13
The old poets, broken, wrote their loveliest
That the god might dip misdeeds,
Fears, all, in the deep sleep of the old psychopannychist --
And yet just yesterday I fought
Afternoon drowsiness off to watch how each
Curt stroke of Nicholas of Cusa's thought
Bore him on, into a bright reach
Where Infi nite and Finite co-inhered
And the mere world on a taut
And shining gossamer of wisdom reappeared....
A rocks-crawling-with-rattlers dream,
Dream where each act, as Clausewitz said of war,
Is simple, and very diffi
cult; trout stream
I know I've visited before
(But where?) fl owing opaque with sewage; gray
Steep vacant street, dark store
And offi
ce in a strange, vast city where I stray
Dread-fi lled, and what am I doing there --
And my son is a puny baby, putting by
His pitiful few possessions with great care
Next to him, on the rug. As I
Laugh hard, he crawls off , thin-limbed, spirited,
On his own, to disappear
Through a dark opening, sloping below his bed --
[left unfi nished]
ca. 1979; August 23, 1996