black poetry

there was never a sound beside the wood but one
three days i heard them grieve when i lay dead
let us pity those who are better off than we are
renew the vision of delight
those on the top say they know you, earth-they are liars
when you come tonight
in their ragged regimentals
though i am little as all little things
a sky that has never known sun, moon or stars
sweet splendor
in the dark and peace of my final bed
backward, turn backward
i burn no incense