Here is the last song

I will sing tonight,

My hands and eyes betray me,

To finish and complete

That last stanza.

I have lived long enough

To place my voice

In that garden

Where tomorrow is poetry

And prose for that supposed love.

The universe is universal

In our ever constant restraint,

So we say.

But in the after-thought of you

I will remain in the exigency

Of tomorrow-until

I remember the cruelty of want.