Last night the telephone rang in my head, in my sleep,
in my dreaming.
You had passed from all reckoning of our days without
number,
From our knowledge and practice of love,
From terrestrial sleep to infinite slumber;
The coils which bound us snapped in two,
The bowl was broken at the well,
Our sky of crystal cracked and fell,
The seeds of surfeit sprouted and grew,
In my head, in my sleep, in my dreaming.
And it was true.
And it was true.