If you can’t love the person you once loved before
you’ll never love the person you love after.
And so all of the brooks and st[reams] of pain,
and rivers of tributation
which tribu[late] so curiously,
mean no[thing] if not built on [found]ations
of loves now well lasting,
and yet even so
now well passed-
And so though I continue to sing your
wondro[us praises, Claire],
I am fully aware of the mo[ment] I will
stray, and go away,
like m[our]ning visitor at Irish wake,
in the evening of a be[loved one]’s
and the whole of it is that
[I love you] more than ever.
Ain’t a [man a fool]ish thing
when caught with the bling of
im[possible] life and future?