The Hollow Way in the Dark Wold > This: The Supplement > The Old Poet

2
And you walk across
that square in the evening:
we are all going home & it's
winter so there aren't any
tourists or followers. You are alone,
like that baby in the pushchair is.

8
You walk across fine sand –
deserted at evening. That one passes –
goodbye to that surface, hullo
to each little brief thing that punctures it.
It is the vanishing of humanity (at last)
to be replaced by flesh, pungent flagrancies
that smash up time. Old man, this beach
is an illusion but no trick as you know
despair & rejoice.