Autumn 1960 • Vol. XXII No. 4 Poetry |

A Script

    Befall this room be scene,     that Now be time,     that half the cast be you:     the plot is what we have to do.     Suppose that you had come,     knocked once, walked on—    with hands that felt fear push     I'd make the sign, "Hush!"—     To stop things. For moving means     too soon the next thing.     And we began long ago     to come toward what we know.     This plight was not our plan—    this play, this scene,     this fear that guides your face     turning toward my face.     A script caught us: time, scene;     dim light, or the sun;     stars, where they are; cue.     And the plot—what we have to do.

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    Befall this room be scene,     that Now be time,     that half the cast be you:     the plot is what we have to do.     Suppose that you had come,     knocked once, […]

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