When, at the end of a complicated season

of argument and negotiation

I check, and find that the moon is dark.

And will soon be new,

I consider the things undone

That will not now be done

And the things unexplained

Which will leave large pools of dissatisfaction

And I breathe out, out, emptying the air

From my lungs, and the worries

From my head; letting it a...

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A full moon, and the tide swollen by rain;

Rain lashing on the window, wild as rage -

My pen is stirring on the unspoilt page

In scribble circles, feeling round this pain.

Like tunnels leading deeper than my mind,

Or ropes in hopeless tangles, loosely curled,

Sprawling intestines looped around the world

My pen describes; this pain is ill-defined.

The ...

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