End of the Suzerain
Als wäre zwischen Bim und Baum
Das Leben ein verschollner Traum.
As if between this and that,
Life were a constant rat-a-tat.
It is the drift, the downs.
It takes my early Lederhosen,
that take two inner pikers,
glory in the fracas and the blue
redeeming, to rise and scrawl
the gypsum-laden rock-fed fells.
Downs in the misty garden, rooting
grounds the arbor vitae, sinking
past the quickening lawns, trials
of the gloaming, crepuscular wish,
ducking from the courting ambergris.
It takes all matador,
and me a gamboling lucky
sprite who never craved a charm.
It takes, it roves, it disassembles
beautiful goals on a cupped night.
On insubstantial marvels
winging sudden warbler glows:
There the sleeting, there revealing coals.