LOUISE BOGAN

PSYCHIATRIST'S SONG

Those
Concerning whom they have never spoken and thought never to
       speak;
That place
Hidden, preserved,
That even the exquisite eye of the soul
Cannot completely see.
But they are there:
Those people, and that house, and that evening, seen
Newly above the dividing window sash -
The young will broken
And all time to endure.

Those hours when murderous wounds are made,
Often in joy.

I hear.
But far away are the mango trees (the mangrove swamps, the
          mandrake root...)
And the thickets of - are they palms?
I watch them as though at the edge of sleep.
I often journey toward them in a boat without oars,
Trusting to rudder and sail.
Coming to the shore, I step out of the boat; I leave it to its anchor;
And I walk fearlessly through ripples of both water and sand.
Then the shells pebbles are beneath my feet.

Then these, too, recede,
And I am on firm dry land, with, closely waiting,
A hill all sifted over with shadw
Wherein the silence waits.

Farewell, phantoms of flesh and of ocean!
Vision of earth
Heal and recieve me.