THE VIEW FROM HERE
These endings were all written out before -
things surmised were things concluded. The
starlight, in its fashion, came and went.
We were stunned, and then we were bored,
and jaded. Complacent, and wan, foiled by
occurrences we no longer sought. Each
moment ended with its own grace note.
I was sure you'd gone to this college, once.
Or I'd heard you'd been here at least : singing a
contralto in a hazy chorale scene. Handel's
Messiah, or something high and serene
like that? Do they need such a voice in
those? Was I wrong yet again?
'He who stammers' - that was my nickname
once, in days of old. The boys around the camp,
who called me that, most of them survived. A
few we sent home in burlap. Too bad. Lethal
fires from a lethal sky, bullets on the ground,