Summer 1940 • Vol. II No. 3 Poetry |

Latter Judgment

The edge on things will make him blind,Tooth of the dog in the bare laneOr the acid fruit imperil his mind,Cataracts falling across no pain. There are more enemies to sightThan wind or rain. No breath but will nameThe adder across his path, and nightRehearses the day-time knife in the dream. The down on things is the edge of his shame. I counter him, whose sight is grownAcid with love. I live in the lightOf the coolness of water touching the bone,My quietude, to whom all breath is bright. He has not found, as I have, the wayTo regard these things with an eye of faith,The dog and the knife sore mouths in the dayOf the golden adder across my path. The eye of water corrects an old wraith.

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The edge on things will make him blind,Tooth of the dog in the bare laneOr the acid fruit imperil his mind,Cataracts falling across no pain. There are more enemies to […]

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The edge on things will make him blind,Tooth of the dog in the bare laneOr the acid fruit imperil his mind,Cataracts falling across no pain. There are more enemies to […]

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