Not, Not Mine: It's Somebody Else's Wound;

The Secret Of Secrets Is Inside Me Again.

This Cruel Age Has Deflected Me, Like A River From This Course. Strayed From Its Familiar Shores, My Changeling Life Has Flowed Into A Sister Channel. How Many Spectacles I've Missed: The Curtain Rising Without Me, And Falling Too. How Many Friends I Never Had The Chance To Meet.

I Know Beginnings, I Know Endings Too, And Life-in-death, And Something Else I'd Rather Not Recall Just Now.

And This Tenderness Was Not Like That Which A Certain Poet At The Beginning Of The Century Called True And, For Some Reason, Quiet. No, Not At All— It Rang Out, Like The First Waterfall, It Crunched Like The Crust Of Bluish Ice And It Prayed With A Swanlike Voice, And It Broke Down Right Before Our Eyes.

Sunset In The Ethereal Waves: I Cannot Tell If The Day Is Ending, Or The World, Or If The Secret Of Secrets Is Inside Me Again.