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

Lions and fires of his flying breath,  Of your immortal

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

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

And wind his globe out of your water thread  And load the throats of shells  with every cry since

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

In the watched dark, quivering through locks and caves,  Will pull the

To shut the sun, plunge, mount your darkened keys  And sear just riders back,  Until that one loved

Looms the last Samson of your zodiac.