Once, Out On The Water In The Clear, Early Nineteenth-Century Twilight,
You Asked Time To Suspend Its Flight. If Wishes Could Beget More Than Sobs,
That Would Be My Wish For You, My Darling, My Angel. But Other
Principles Prevail In This Glum Haven, Don’t They? If That’s What It Is.
Then The Wind Fell Of Its Own Accord.
We Went Out And Saw That It Had Actually Happened.
The Season Stood Motionless, Alert. How Still The Dropp Was
On The Burr I Know Not. I Come All
Packaged And Serene, Yet I Keep Losing Things.