Look back at one whose whole life lay ahead,
the tolerant master of unfolding time,
a future locutor of words unsaid
not yet supine in any unmade bed
nor revenant to uncommitted crime.

Look back and claim a prize now judged complete.
See, instead of a looming ouverture,
an oeuvre borne by an oaf on stumbling feet
headlong downstairs to crash into the street,
a fallen egg past any hope or cure.

Will men and horses put this puzzle right
here on the table? And under a chair:
the missing piece! A wedge of summer light
slips into place. Observe this gorgeous night
and depart, to take refreshment elsewhere.

October 15, 2004

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