Outcast
He sleeps along the empty street
cobwebs sticking to his clothes;
the dark and jealous lover grief
has trailed him thru the world he knows.
Louise Louis
Most common moods
Poems
On Laying a Wreath
Yesterday is always calling,
"that you, dear?" Light and laughter
under the door — (as I stand outside
laying this wreath on the mound
memory marks with a monument) —
windows lit with lamps —
an intimate clatter of cups,
hassle of silver, wine jeweling a glass,
a bubble of suds, a scurry upstairs
and a banter! Pink spread. Slippers
smothered in carpet. A celluloid rattle.
The music stand in the bay window.
Sunlight mottling the battered bookcase
by the stairs where the dog is
napping . . .
I lay my wreath who know late
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