Among the the infirmities of body mind and art,
The failing of the future in the past,
Will we finally sit at table, just we three?
No interloper will be left to take a part,
No unknown speaker horn into the cast:
Our dwindling talk will finally be free.
Oh my heart, my poor old ragged heart,
Scraped over so many portages, are you launched at last
On the wide water that will take you to the sea?