The Weeper

Who is weeping in the apartment above?

I have heard the long-winged seabirds in the solitary air

(As querulous, as shrill),

But there was sunlight mixed with their crying,

And this is in the night.

This sound is a dark blade

Cutting harsh patterns of grief-

Loud silhouette of a woman weeping.

I hear no words,

But how explicit is this idiom,

This blurred derivative of language.

Here is a tale full-throated,

A disheveled, noisy sorrow

Coarsely and pitifully told;

Anguish is the common tongue all speak,

And the listener, however reluctant,

Must bear witness.

Through my ceiling,

Through the ceiling of night,

Stretches this high whimpering,

Taut as steel wire,

On which the violent heart careens and teeters-

Crazed tightrope walker

About to fall.

Leonora Speyer

A FACE AT FATE

We could race for another country in another direction

Taking goggles and a box lunch in the bus,

Speak to the passengers of another destination

And fool all but us.

We have sat for years and years here with a drink,

Straining the symbol through the straining wit,

Talking of talking, dreaming of being swank-

Are you pleased with it?

And this goes on as long and longer than we.

In another world we wait for the active man

To bring a book or a bottle, wondering why

Anything ever began.