Colloquy

In the broken light, in owl weather,

Webs on the lawn where the leaves end,

I took the thin moon and the sky for

To pick the cat's brains and descendA weedy hill.  I found him

Inside the summerhouse, a shadowed bulge,

Furred and somnolent.—"I bring,"I said, "besides this dish of liver, and an

Of cheese, the customary torments,

And the usual wonder why we

At all, and why the world thins out and

As it has done for me,

As I am toward silences.

Are we now?  Do we know anything?"—Now, on another night, his look endures."Give me the dish," he said.

I had his answer, wise as yours.