Tuesday, February 24, 2015

Dream Song 29

Dream Song 29

BY JOHN BERRYMAN
There sat down, once, a thing on Henry's heart   
só heavy, if he had a hundred years 
& more, & weeping, sleepless, in all them time   
Henry could not make good. 
Starts again always in Henry's ears 
the little cough somewhere, an odour, a chime. 

And there is another thing he has in mind   
like a grave Sienese face a thousand years 
would fail to blur the still profiled reproach of. Ghastly,   
with open eyes, he attends, blind. 
All the bells say: too late. This is not for tears;   
thinking. 

But never did Henry, as he thought he did, 
end anyone and hacks her body up 
and hide the pieces, where they may be found. 
He knows: he went over everyone, & nobody's missing.   
Often he reckons, in the dawn, them up. 
Nobody is ever missing.









 

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