friendship poem

full of tears
it is true that you say the gods are more use to you than fairies
she must go back, she said
to be able to see every side of every question
as evening falls
sleep sweetly in your humble graves
to come so soon to this imagined dark
you say you love me
i am old and blind
stuff of the moon
the pale day drowses on the western steep
fat black bucks in a wine-barrel room
the body may confine
arched the flood