Friday, July 04, 2003

A Final Sonnet



for Chris


How strange to be gone in a minute!        A man

Signs a shovel and so he digs      Everything

Turns into writing a name for a day


is having a birthday and someone is getting

married and someone is telling a joke       my dream

a white tree        I dream of the code of the west

But this rough magic I here abjure        and

When I have required some heavenly music         which even now

I do        to work mine end upon their senses

That this aery charm is form     I’ll break

My staff       bury it certain fathoms in the earth

And deeper than did ever plummet sound

I’ll drown my book

It is 5:15 a.m.                                   Dear Chris, hello




Ted Berrigan

gone this day