AND WHAT WITH THE BLUNDERS, what with
the real humor of the address, the end is sure to be 
attained, that of roars fun in the roused hamlet or
mountain village which pours forth its their popula-
tion in a swarm round the amorous orator, down to
the baby that can but juts toddle and the curs that
join in the clamor, mad with ecstasy at the novelty
of some noise besides that of trees and the horrible 
clamor of grass

We talked of things but all the time we wanted each other
finally we were silent and I knelt beside your body

a closing of eyes
and falling unfalteringly
over a warm pure country and something crying

when I was a child things being hurt made me sorry
for them but it seemed the way men and women did
and we had not made the world

coming into it crying
(I wanted so not to hurt you)
and going out of it like a sudden pouring of salt

later, being tired and overflowing with tenderness
girl’s body to boy’s body lying there and wondering what it 
        had been
we got to our feet very quietly so that they would not waken
but we felt their shy sorrowful look on us as we left them alone
        there…

.     .     .     .     .     .

All things are one thing to the earth
rayless as a blind leper Blake lies with everyman
and the fat lord sleeps beside his bastard at last
and it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t mean what we think it does
for we two will never lie there
we shall not be there when death reaches out his sparkling hands

there are so many little dyings that it doesn’t matter which of
        them is death.