I See No Moon

 

I see no moon from within these plaster walls,
No streetlight, no lightly drifting finches—
Naught but sound cracks the doubl’d panes,
And of that there is much; in here no pin falls,
No mouse might dare to creep for the clamour
Of the moonlit street.

I have no taste within these bournes of four,
No trace of caramel distinction found in sweat:
Naught but the dry and the damp sunk up from the lanes
That stalk themselves in shadow as if to assure
The lonely travelling reveler’s paramour
Of her delayed return.

Yet these constructs of isolation
Contain their own scenery;
Frightful tales abound within the solace,
The solace found in stagnant recognition.

 

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