Not This

What I intended was not this Grey absence when the heart declines Like a spent flower upon its stalk,

The bent, the reprimanded head.

What I intended was to say, Not in all things perfection lies, Nor are our human reasons pure—

But you set out, as from some shore Obsidian-sharp, at once to sea, Where the most drowning waters are.

It was not meant so finally.

Meant as a thesis, not yet proved, A speculation, hardly said, The merest whisper of a voice—

But at the sound you bowed your head. The universal darkness fell And landscape shattered to a close. The frozen eyes of hell arose And glittered where the stars had been. Calamity undid the moon.

What I intended was not this.

Nor will I think those thoughts again.