that is not your Mirror: Else, you would not withdraw
behind the Lines like a shrinking Insect.
Would not fade like Reason’s tamed Echoes
and ripple in hidden Waves through the String
above the Face of the shrieking Wind.
Otherwise, the beckoning Song could not repel you
circled by violent Shivers, dancing inside the Eyes,
sending progressions chanting at the Moon.
His Bones always at Hand,
banging the Drums of the decaying Meat. And yet
his Dream was hunted in Daylight, like the Bird,
whose Flight, for a Moment admired from the Ground,
is stifled with a single blow.