What Are Years?
The pains of old grief and sour taste
of sourness? or little oil of
lantern, burning dim ashore? Baste
of loosed, looped lace ashore thereof?
The dimming deep probs of wet eyes,
Of watered clay through knitting drops?
The fading changes face of skies
and half of twilight, moon that cops?
The walking away— heard by walls—
Listening walls and names written– such,
Such of white ink and black blood, alls
or red-black thick boil in pale clutch?
The beginning of an end, pain
of a touch or flash of old ages–
gone, flown by air as birds of reign
fly from fed prey in calm rages?
Or colours of blank white, defeats
of dumb dead; speaking,- heart-throbbing
like caging of souls and the feats
of trance, has it clusters of ants?
Has it a boiling stone of coal
as air of time fleets on the air?
Or has it as colds of cajole
with clad of sane with dropped hands spar?
Years are fluttery wings of sorrows
and pain by years, by and by of bye.
Years are winds struck by hooting owls–
Night hoot'ng owls on starry nights by.
"words from the innocent mind"