Retrospective
Poem for a Selfpitying Friend/ for Lost Loves
It is over, it is
life,
burning out, only now
you have been permitted
to feel
its
sore flame. Look in your mirror,
say Loser.
Scum off the dried
material of her kiss.
It is life, the burnt offering of it,
it is
a
pilgrimage, give
your heart
like a stone to the wind’s wonderful
drill.
© The Estate of Sandford Lyne
