He has made me to know,
in myself, a compassion I have
no use for.
He fairly breaks-as they say-my heart.
He passes into and free of the light,
the light itself
trophaic in its semblance
of taking leave.
he has caused me to understand
as between the sea when
it seems mostly a delicate, black
and the sky at night when it wants
in the very hand to which it once was blur
Had I not
called it a thing done with
already, the better part
of pleasure? Did he not find me
in the part at least I had thought
From ROCK HARBOR (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2002)