“This is my raft”, he told me
The man with the unfocused eye
To the horizon he smiled gently
And clung fast to his chair’s sides.
“I found wrongdoings elsewhere,
So I have chosen my confines
Though progress builds her gilded stair,
As the days blur into times.
“You might tell me of fair reckonings,
In a world ever made anew
Of real places and sheer dreamings,
In art both rendered true.
You might tell me of glass cities
Towering giants against the blue
Delights lost on heady breezes,
Across beaches I never knew.
“There are wonders, this I know
But each year the lilacs fade
My adventures fall to ghosts,
And my hurts are not repaid.
This is my raft, this is my cave,
My cell, if it please you so;
I left my glasses upon a grave,
And I have nowhere else to go.”
He closed his eyes, still clinging,
To the chair though it had gone
It was that lonesome edge of being
Where the night awaits the dawn.