The Products of Love’s Smog

The older poet dreamed perhaps of past

Emotions with the younger one (of France

And beds), dreamed, dreamed in daylight and the last

Night hour as wakefulness began to prance

Across subconsciousness of London’s dawn.

The elder man created reveries

In English afternoons of what was gone

Now into yesterdays he could not seize

And in the nightime postures with his arms

Across the boy’s smells.  His dreaming took

On sadnesses of joy skimming harm’s

Dark surface till his frozen entrails shook.

  His writing took on coolness like a light

    Fog fuelling imprecision in the night.