Poem

This day when I lay my hope aside
Dawns with a single stone of light
That builds to a low meridian
Till noon, a bare pillar, is my own height,
As such l can measure it.

This place seems right to say goodbye,
Having only a centre, no east or west,
Where nothing is large and all is calm.
Its firmament is my own eye,
It fits the landscape of my palm.

Since time has majesty to be so meek,
And space comes tamely to the hand,
This person must do no less for sorrow,
This mourner must not be too grand
Nor strike on golden tablets beyond belief.
Let the pen lie where it has fainted,
The few black words it wrote
Were not set down to flatter grief.