No One We Knew

And this little sleep is rounded with a
Well
Lives trickled down so many slopes, so many dead
And
Well, of all the things I ever thought just wouldn't matter
All of them have mattered.

You ask permission at the strangest times --
I can measure the inadequacy of my understanding
By my surprise.

No problem. Leaves raining down, yellow leaves, maple leaves
They paste themselves to the van. The time to ask

The time to ask

The time to ask permission was back at the start.
Because now
All the creeks run down to the same black river,
All the desires run down to the same white fear.

And that fear is of all fears the most rational --
That I should be just one, just one of the dim
Jostling crowd on the muddy ferry-bank.

Who was he? One shade asks, and another turns,
Shading his lidless eyes with a fleshless hand, and shrugs.
No one we knew. Not well, anyway.

All the leaves flowing down to the river
And the river flowing underground
And the ferryman bored with his shuffling crew --
No one we knew. Not well, anyway.