death poem

i went up and down the streets
backward, turn backward
i cannot always feel his greatness
love has been sung a thousand ways
the ships are lying in the bay
arched the flood
all down the years
against the green flame of the hawthorn-tree
for these white arms about my neck
over the river they beckon to me
a few more windy days
truely
from our hidden places
mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam