Amaranth of Sunset

Done, undone, not done, and done too well -
Oh Chile of my despair, oh orb of thieves,
Oh whirlpool madness - oh you curious hell
Of love and hate, you cradle of all that grieves.
All Shakespeare vested in one small drunk man,
All of the poets in this love of mine,
All of the sorrows on that raft of wine;
Was this the man for me, the final man,
Who knows? Gone - to the amaranthyn last
Shaft as he watched it muttering “Never more...”
I see my poet walking by the shore
Of time alone as I, locked in our past,
Snarling, quiescent. And then up speaks the wine:
“You to your life, mijito; I, to mine.”

(1940)

(Mijito: my very dear, a Chillenism)