LAST YEAR

the ruddy noose has loosened
waning with the hour
circling as we turn
goodbye we say and part, pretending

last year, the day before, this garden
thorny and green-- our secret land we shall meet
to escape its symmetrical grave
for what do we say?

. . . there's lies in the why and mud in my eye
. . . rye in the sky and you feeling nothing
. . . what could be said is better left dead
. . . to fade in midnight's dressing

marble cast on the hill, last a lifetime if you will
fill the chamber of our thought, with last year

snow on the ground so early this season
cranes messenger our blessing
shielding the shower of our reason
mending, mending

. . . there's lies in the why and mud in my eye
. . . rye in the sky and you feeling nothing
. . . what could be said is better left dead
. . . to fade in midnight's dressing

last year, the day before, this garden
thorny and green-- our secret land we shall escape