late in day down day
to be but alone is enough
for any one
as it is for me
to quietly sit per breaths
as per breaths be
the anonymity
of the curtained night
to lay aside my eyes
and think
the threads
that skein the edge
off the tapestry of day
to rest the warp
and weft of
blackening moonbeams
to close my eyes
around the music’s
gentle torment
to close the book-lids at last
for look the pen lies desk-ward
its ink is drawn
the day is dry
and but i alone did see it
and with it did slowly die
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