This poem is taken from Poetry Nation 4 Number 4, 1975.
Nothing
Amnesia. A keyhole. A glass eye.
In sleep, dreams between long blanks;
awake, blanks between brief dreams.
This is the cemetery side of fifty.
This is the taste of pure water.
This is the dread revealing nothing.
Beyond the carpeted staircase
the captive evening settles
...
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