good bye poem

why do
he's gone
out of the deep and the dark
the arches of the red bridge
i make my shroud, but no one knows
for i was a gaunt, grave councillor
when sea-winds pierced our solitudes
a blue-black nubian plucking oranges
do i like it
no prey am i of poor thoughts
he speaks not well
the little white prayers
last midnight
when you come tonight