19.

Vexation burned when the sun beat on the waves

And no matter how much I looked away

I was blinded, saw your face rise like a sword,

The dead king sent out on a barrow

To drift into mythology,

A dream in and out of consciousness

And the smell of cedar in my nostrils still

Lodged by the lake. On the other side

Beyond the bay, the four great smokestacks rose

On the shore changing utterly your hair

The texture of poetry: the oak and earth

Turned on themselves and love was barely

Possible. It is hard amid affliction

For roses to bud and lips to touch.