(I.)
Look at it lovely in the light of dark,
Mists on broken courts, ghosts on the concrete,
Can you not see? Forever are ghosts here,
And I stare unmoving at spirits, these,
Who do not in form show, by night do not
Cry out in romantic banshee lament.
Seen invisible, heard in their silence,
Can you not see? Forever, forever.

And have I dealt myself bitterly here,
In the mists of afternoon, rising hot
Of cracked pavement swirling gorgeous and
Of storms just past in fleeting minutes and
Of light refracting, of leftover trace
Of everything gone and unspoken and
Of that rampaging storm we have lost and
Here, here I have dealt myself bitterly.

(II.)
Never can I wonder how those silent strangers weep aloud
In frigid winter mountain towns—no, never can I wonder how;
For when one finds the world unknown, yet knows those strangers are alone,
It’s then that one can hear the moans, and Carolina winds ice bone
And blur the sight of walks at night,
Of walks that night they lit the lights.

(III.)
i miss what i never thought i would