408
SWAN SONG ARRANGED FOR TWO PIANOS
let the dim realities
of thine arms
evoke some fleeting
perfect image
against the darkness
of Cremona violins
—The taste of dust
is on thy lips
beloved
(and dust
will settle in the shadows
when autumn
mournfully dances
to a crazy prelude
beaten
on muffled drums)
oh let thy sudden smile
caress mine aching eyes
let thy delicate smile
erect some momentary grandeur
between me
and the overwhelming darkness
so I may mould
my lips
into some feeble sign
of ultimate derision
