by John Berryman
Age, and the deaths, and the ghosts.
Her having gone away
in spirit from me. Hosts
of regrets come & find me empty.
I don't feel this will change.
I don't want any thing
or person, familiar or strange.
I don't think I will sing
any more just now;
ever. I must start
to sit with a blind brow
above an empty heart.