They lined up all the Psalms,
all one hundred and fifty of them,
and shot them one by one.

They threw him in a trench
made for the purpose of burying Psalms.

And did the Psalms rise up,
did they rise up singing?

Did the Psalms stay together,
did the Psalms disperse?

Did the Twenty-third Psalm escape,
and come to your house
and ask for a ride?

Imagine you are the belated passenger.
Tell what happened to you and what you saw.

I saw one hundred and fifty bathers
come to a wide, calm lake
at the end of a long, hot day.

I saw one hundred and fifty bathers
take off their clothes and swim slowly
to the other side, with a long cool joy
like that of swans and dogs.

How do you explain this?

By way of the oft-repeated.
By way of sorrow’s root.
By way of the swinging lantern.
And by the faces of stars
drowned in the morning light.