A Mire of Words.

(Dowson & Auden)

Days yet unlived, I almost lived again;
Our wobbling way: there's a white silence
We gather and entwine.
Only I have no work
Lest the loud anguish of the waters should efface
That last landscape
Neobule, fain of sleep,
Theology and horses, our home become
A place of shadows utterly,
Inscribed on skies, escarpments, trees,
Just a little longer,
With the yearning unicorn;
That I may tell it like a rosary.

09 07 04