Berryman, Dream Songs:

25

 
Henry, edged, decidedly, made up stories
lighting the past of Henry, of his glorious
present, and his hoaries,
all the bight heals he tamped -    - Euphoria,
Mr Bones, euphoria.  Fate clobber all.
- Hand me back my crawl,

 
condign Heaven.  Tighten into a ball
elongate and valved Henry.  Tuck him peace.
Render him sightless,
or ruin at high rate his crampon focus,
wipe out his need.  Reduce him to the rest of us.
- But, Bones, you is that.

 
- I cannot remember.  I am going away.
There was something in my dream about a Cat,
which fought and sang.
Something about a lyre, an island.  Unstrung.
Linked to the land at low tide.  Cables fray.
Thank you for everything.