1847 c/o Rebecca Perry

had a presentiment
in the bottom of my heart

came home to the funeral
the little door
the earliest flowers
the first flakes of snow

i was superstitious
about my dreams
in which
shameless little boys
dragged her pillow away
stole her snowy shoes

the wilderness
the moors
a south wind
scented leaves
snow under the black hollow

the round table
dry shoes
warm wine gingerbread
turkey duck pigeon
the fancy world

about my dreams
in which
a man
fierce pitiless wolfish
walked through walls
like wine through water
how he hung over her pillow

the room her room
a handful of golden crocuses
on the pillow
her head place
her clothes
people vaguely regarding the flowers
every shade
the snow yards deep
suffocating snow

the round table
beef mutton ham
i call her a darling
is not the snow almost gone
(a lie)
now we should all have peace
(a lie)
that is how i’m loved now
& haunted

about my dreams
in which
it finally happens
her nun-like veil
rarely lifted
she tore the pillow with her teeth