My soul is now her day, my day her night, So I lie down, and so I rise.
Already old, the question Who shall die? Becomes unspoken Who is innocent?
Keelhaul the poets in the vestry chairs.
But with exquisite breathing you smile, with satisfaction of love, And I touch you again as you tick in the silence and settle in sleep.
Poetry is not a way of saying things; it's a way of seeing things.
Leo Connellan has retained his soul and voice in Provincetown and Other Poems.