He
will not occur much to us again
unless in the thin way thoughts occur
who
was wild and solid and broke doors in
and had women and clay his hands knew
how to touch. Now
what we love in him deprives us of him.
Jokes, height, fox-grin, great irony
and nose
will not occur much to us again.
They have been put in a box
to rot. Night
air took the heat from his brain
as he lay with cracked head under a wall.
Metal
and stones stay shapeless because he is dead.
His clay crumbles. His women
mate elsewhere.
He will not occur much to us again.
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