Deaths And Entrances

 On almost the incendiary eve
 Of several near deaths,
When one at the great least of your best loved
 And always known must leave
Lions and fires of his flying breath,
 Of your immortal friends
Who'd raise the organs of the counted dust
 To shoot and sing your praise,
One who called deepest down shall hold his peace
 That cannot sink or cease
 Endlessly to his wound
In many married London's estranging grief.


On almost the incendiary eve
 When at your lips and keys,
Locking, unlocking, the murdered strangers weave,
 One who is most unknown,
Your polestar neighbour, sun of another street,
 Will dive up to his tears.

He'll bathe his raining blood in the male sea
 Who strode for your own dead
And wind his globe out of your water thread
 And load the throats of shells
 with every cry since light
Flashed first across his thunderclapping eyes.


On almost the incendiary eve
 Of deaths and entrances,
When near and strange wounded on London's waves
 Have sought your single grave,
One enemy, of many, who knows well
 Your heart is luminous
In the watched dark, quivering through locks and caves,
 Will pull the thunderbolts
To shut the sun, plunge, mount your darkened keys
 And sear just riders back,
 Until that one loved least
Looms the last Samson of your zodiac.

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