Why not---!

          The black energy of that time.
We shared

There seems to be, about certain lives,
A vague, violent frame, an imperceptible
Halo of uncertainty, diffidence and taste

Down the long curving walk you trudge to the street,
Stoop-shouldered in defeat, a cardboard suitcase
In each hand. Gerda, don’t leave! the child cries

Then to go there in the dusky
heavy air of that place yet always
carrying in the shielding

Like the bells
That could be ringing out of heaven now
For all my ears can tell,

Now the universe wants to be known for
Itself, isn’t that why we’re here
Popped out on this terrace the color of stars

He raised his hand above his head.
His hair was a surface of gray,
his hand a semaphore.

How good it is to lie there
waiting for love;
fighting the fire,

Nobody else alive knows the four heart sounds
and nobody touches the four soft places
and raises his wing to look for lice; and nobody

That is a pair of white hands I see
floating in the mirror, the fingers on the left
are blunt and rounded, the ones on the right are raised