No Ghost Is True

No ghost is true,

But these at least are kind;

Comes night, they spaniel at the mind,

Or flicker on the blue

Impassive wall, .

Riffed by the blind

Thumb, the dumb glans, the halt,

The imperfect heart: Old friends,

Performers, I remember your magical voices,

The liquid presence of your eyes,

O in the morning you were splendid,

Your delicate teeth, your loins,

Your aptitude at love-incredible!

In the evening you were still valid,

The fragrance of children trembled

In your bouquet under the ferns' arsenal.

In the evening you were still valid...