In Fragments Shall I Live

Your soul contains my self—I cannot die
So long as you, my children, live—

Death rises on the sunset—it’s a sigh

Of shadows every life must give.

You stare at the horizon, and you say, 

“It’s death.” I say, “Approach.” You say, “I can’t.”

Indeed, the red horizon of the day

Recedes—you run, you run, you pant,

But all horizons must recede—the sun

Descends behind it, though, for you 

Can never reach the setting dun—we’re done

One day, and we pay what’s due.

 

Your soul contains my self—each poem I 

Have written someone reads, each book

I publish, play someone has seen, reply 

In scholarship—my words a brook

Delivering my mind to others’—my songs

The music of my mind that flow

Into a delta—all my rights and wrongs,

My vanities and virtues grow

And grow with all the minds who take my words

And make new meaning out of them, and eat the curds

That form out of my milk—are for your sake. 

 

Your soul contains my self—this poem’s worth

Is measured in remembered rhythms, rhymes—

And after I am dead, they will give birth

To minds all holding mine throughout all times

That people understand these words—the sun 

Will never set—Apollo rises soon—

The earth will turn—daylight has begun

Upon another face—another noon

Will bring enlightenment—under my tree

Will others seek to flee the heat, but light

Is dancing through the leaves. I’ll never be, 

In my becoming, night, the moon in flight.