so many blackbirds go awry, distorted pyre, squared emptiness, unaware the compass points per suicide
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& that October lass, who died on the stairs, feeding birds — mother & teacher & finally friend, were she here today she would do it again — feed the birds — I ask why she stayed so long, her eyes to the sky in the ripening meadows, the barn, the ladder thereby
(could I ask, what’s ‘sandwich’) ‘That’s ‘where’ you’re goin’, a wee bit there down the road, & wait, here’s a penny for…’ (now why am I in Haridwar)
on the platform at Rishikesh — were you then in bright red (& gave me ‘kippers’); I was ragged, I had left my dhotis with the elephant, would you have them — ‘long way, indeed,’ you said, ‘to Picadilly’
So ‘Twill
while I was whistlin’ Waterloo at Srinagar, a crowd within a congerie made mockery — what was I to do — yes, twigs to choose & further stones to sit upon, but, will they stay put…