The Products of Love’s Smog
The older poet dreamed perhaps of past
Emotions with the younger one (of France
And beds), dreamed, dreamed in daylight and the last
Night hour as wakefulness began to prance
Across subconsciousness of London’s dawn.
The elder man created reveries
In English afternoons of what was gone
Now into yesterdays he could not seize
And in the nightime postures with his arms
Across the boy’s smells. His dreaming took
On sadnesses of joy skimming harm’s
Dark surface till his frozen entrails shook.
His writing took on coolness like a light
Fog fuelling imprecision in the night.