death poetry

i love my hour of wind and light
i have to say good-night
when night drifts along the streets of the city
there are three ways in which men take
let a joy keep you
the ships are lying in the bay
what was it the engines said
evidenced in the glimmer in your eyes
often is it not so?
i despise my friends more than you
a poet, having taken the bridle off his tongue
when i was broke in london
star-dust and vaporous light