The Place

What is the form is the gro-
tesquerie—the accident
of the moon’s light
on your face.

Oh love, an empty table!
An empty bottle also.
But no trick will go
so far but not further.

The end of the year is a div-
ision, a drunken derision
of composition’s accident.
We both fell.

I fell. You fell.
In hell we will tell of it.
Form’s accidents, we move back-
wards to love…

The movement of the
sentence tells me of you
as it was the bottle we drank?
No. It was no accident.

Agh, form is what happens?
Form is an accompaniment.
I to love, you to love:
Syntactic accident.

It will all come true,
in a year.
The empty bottle, the empty table,
tell where we were.

~Robert Creeley

Robert Creeley died a few weeks ago. I found this out yesterday from some random blog. He was my favorite poet.