‘A road assumed’



A road assumed, at one with nameless grainy dawn,
rain shining on the roofs, and still too dark to read
whatever map was held—seems long ago, inborn,
but that’s untrue. Sight makes miles: and all days bleed
as though torn out before their time, a ragged edge
between the swift downfalling sun and night’s long wedge.

A day’s not razed, but blank, before it’s written on,
they say—the undetermined orb upon the palm—
but what they say is wrong. Quietly, it’s all foregone,
the sense of what we show by nominative harm
in taking miles along a road whose way’s assumed,
remembering the course of roads so long subsumed.





A Road Assumed — titles and first lines