Thursday, December 31, 2020

For Thus I Leave the World, the Flesh

But what is slow
Asks the small poem
As if to say
There’s no such thing

And think of Hell
And the one God
One at the last
Wrote of in fear

And love—think of
That—love and fear
At the last scene
For what—the slow

Wheels of a myth
That still turn and
Not for one’s own
End—what is soul