Lines Late in the Day
I grow tired; the first pallors of darkness fall-
I blur emptiness with the T.V's images
until I do not see them, like hotel wallpapers,
and, numb, I find I still look back-the long waste of chances, a show-off's cowardice
the endless easy evasions, so often playing the drowning man
with disability, certain of rescue - and the words,
almost incessant, excusing and immobilising selfin chiaroscuro, centre-stage of feelings and awareness
from which no exit into the world, no commitment found;
and when sometimes the words saved, I was a part,
recognised acceptance, then tacitly I would retreatspeaking denial to myself, denial - anything
to inhibit change, that loss of inadequacy,
of oblivion's self-rule. This poet is ambience
and signature of his work, and nobodycan be final arbiter or judge of his own worth;
as light fades, I know that feeling the taint of shame
does not redeem; if I believe it all to have been loss,
I preempt any victory to come: I assume that it was all war.On imaginary battlements, seeing only ruins and demanding
reparation, that is choice and may find no answer.
