23

I met the philosophers

And all they had was their terrible responsibility

In solitude and sacrificial buildings

Where arrogant seas grow wild

Their guilt in doubt, in trembling repose

The patient heavens jealous

Of their refusal to weep and wail

To innocence

Of some heavy god

Who stole the years our fathers had faith enough

That same faith which never existed says we can die in the same universe in which we love

It speaks with tongues