(St. Raphael the Archangel is the patron saint of blind people, guardian angels, happy meetings, insanity, lovers, nightmares, nurses, pharmacists, physicians, shepherds, sick people, travelers, and young people.)
Could we, or could we not, in half-forgotten tongue
Exhale the finest song, or weave the wildest tale,
Or on a hillside trail imbibe the western gale
In summer evening hot, and calm, and sweet, and long?
Could I defy the gods and with triumphant spell
Preserve the breath and smell, retain the kiss and gaze,
Disable and encase the stream of endless days?
I'm scared my puny odds are now too late to tell.
I'm in November here, still trying all in vain
To fight the rending pain, and boredom, and disgust,
Or with a spastic thrust suppress my aching lust
While a betraying tear blends with the English rain.
By night your burning ghost shall haunt my freezing bed.
The Paradise I fled is but a distant flame.
The beast within is tame, he's ceased to howl your name.
I should have bet and lost; I'm cutting costs instead.
I hear from sky above, I know from silent land
That when by Angel's hand my useless eyes are shut,
As surgeons tear and cut my muscle and my gut,
In clots of wasted love my bleeding soon will end.