Priscilla Sneff: Song

(Link. Sneff's work is generally not my cup of tea, but I'll make an exception for this one, mostly because of the last stanza.)

Song

Whether he live or no
The meadow shimmer as ever
And heat render the long stems low
And the sun stroke the river

And silence take me in
Undoubling its front door
To a room like the room inside my skin,
Its broken furniture,

And I lie on the single bed
Older; the linen is taut.
My own bare arm lies under my head
Shifting little or not

When night calls to its own,
Ruffling its owls together,
And their eyes blink at the shining moon,
And the moon glows in the river.