Groping back to bed after a piss I part the thick curtains, and am startled by The rapid clouds, the moon`s cleanliness. Four o`clock: wedge-shaped gardens lie Under a cavernous, a wind-pierced sky. There`s something laughable about this, The way the moon dashes through the clouds that blow Loosely as cannon-smoke to stand apart (Stone-coloured light sharpening the roofs below) High and preposterous and separate— Lozenge of love! Medallion of art! O wolves of memory! Immensements! No, One shivers slightly, looking up there. The hardness and the brightness and the plain far-reaching singleness of that wide stare Is a reminder of the strength and pain Of being young; that it can`t come again, But is for others undiminished somewhere.SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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