|
BLIND SAMPSON
What I could freely give,
you contrived to take.
Short of theft,
you proposed to borrow:
swearing fidelity, feigning interest.
On your account I gave away
more than I could lay my hands on—
to float a leaden possibility.
You exult at my expense.
Blind Sampson deciphers at last
what it means to be alone.
Though shorn of pride,
tangled debts snake about my head:
the columns' twining fractures burst—
we fall beneath the wreckage
of our closing transaction.
March 1989
|
 |
|
