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Bout de Souffle
Out of Breath
Final Draft
250
Out of the deeps rise the days, climb dawns and peak noons
Over dry fields dragging or drenched seabeds,
Over boughs bearing fertile buds and flowers;
Out comes the star-doggèd sun, a scent of the moon
Over fish, gulls flocking and flying seabound,
Over shoreside sheep and shepherds alike.
On the rest, rain falls ruin for the evening;
Daylong drifting drowns in the nighttime,
Sinks to the seabed, stifled and constant;
No shifting to shore but towards shallows of death.
When all is authored, what aches to be writ
But the death of the deity who drafted it?
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