This is the fourth poem
In which I have lived with you
Without pa**ion,
Language leaving us in silence.
Now, early morning
As the dawn birds sing,
I watch the opulence
Of the sun correct the universe,
Unknown pleasures visiting
Gracious as Buddha -
Or you - who sounds my name
As if the soul mattered
At 6 am, the morning
Bleak, the sun nothing more
Than its own light
Uncertain of time or space
Until shadows fall colouring
Second after second and these words left,
This fourth poem in which
I have lived with you
Stone-dead on its arrival.