Goodbye. Our revels now are ended.
Bring Home Her Name
Whose house is this? Nobody knows.
Birds flying in and out of every window
all year long and doors swinging wide
in the wind both ways, toward the glow
of an imagined past, and toward the bride,
that fleeing girl, the future. She hides
by changing, escapes by standing still.
The secret of possession? Go outside.
She’ll come to rest inside you. Leave your will.
Meet your dark lender, Evening, below the hill.
Her father, he’ll tell you her name.
Then you’ll ransom the hours and heart you spent
playing house on property lent,
taste her name and for what your life is meant.