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Year
for Viren, after Karthik

Here, on one fountain of a mourning mind 
I have been taken up into grief, the strange
relief of clouds. Soon departed, I shall be
once again returned to disquieted prayer, 
the proud monk to his rites rejoined 
such are covers for disjointedness.
 
Adroit is the spoiled self touching only
late that of Other, of Beauty, Adonais
dead then, when Mr. Shelley once young, 
now always, has clung moderne, as much 
as, as soon as he can deny, spurn, return 
a Vision toward the vital air.
 
He has the advantage of an Eastern detachment.
 
 
I meanwhile to walls stick, to
sheets, this cup, full, cannot release.
 
I step, my foot remains to boards 
stuck, must walk inwardly restrained, 
 
halt, try to, misstep, the usual tread
of, with, my heart.
 
 
 
 
With heart will I to Guatemala go, 
 
there a Mayan lover do some good, 
 

to active volcanoes, 
 
deepest lake
 
with creatures strange - 
 
axelotls, 
 
pink, 
 
delicate, 
 
 
and one fountain send

where I need to go - 
 
there, continually letting 
 
go the hollows, release 
 
the following tread 
 
and the after-flow. 
 
 
Feeling grief's all, 
 
I follow to where all is fled.
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