Eternals

POETS ETERNITY

15th.july.2015

I.

Eternity is a strange fisherman

tugging at threads made of years

noting every season in her September journal

throwing her line, looking for a bite

we bite, she smiles, caught

in undertows of gods

days pass like fish scrambling upstream

confused movement unseen

our days pass through words

through mine-fields of make-believe

we write

we note

we lose,

II.

scan the roll of poets

choose a name, read glimpses

vision of normal everyday things

dressing, undressing, cup of coffee, cigarette

waving, shouting, oblivious sight

Louis Macneice descended down a well

deep into its cold overflow he became darkness,

Auden, his friend, drank a last martini

then slipped into otherness,

Spender who laughed with them on college quads

seen in many photos, tall, fair Byronic reincarnation

took to bed and never awoke having outlived the Auden generation.

III.

I wonder, the day after, who folded their clothes

took out that last bin of crumpled papers

with final poetic attempts, misfired prose?

who cleaned decades of insight, toothbrush, slippers?

who packed up their journals, putting letters in attics or museums,

eternity jokes with death

wearing matching suits, mapping their interplay

on books, on songs, last poems

chirp in stars exploding.