I Didn't Really See Why

Now I Am Silent, Hate Up To My Neck, Thick, Thick. I Do Not Speak.

I Felt Dull And Flat And Full Of Shattered Visions.

I Am Inhabited By A Cry. Nightly It Flaps Out Looking, With Its Hooks, For Something To Love.

I Think The Coming Of Spring, The Stars Overhead, The First Snowfall And So On Are Gifts For A Child, A Young Poet.

Perhaps, Perhaps This Would Be The One To Pull Me Out Of My Plunge.