“Melencolia I”
Here the void towers profusely,
here there is whirling space
Everywhere shows after-effects.
Here the tools have left their scattered mark,
and the dog, a trembling strip of warmth;
a feather's weight, a silent bell,
and the wilted flowers of geometry.
The bat is out hunting for minds,
the magic square combs out the numbers,
the hourglass chokes on a grain of sand.
How make-believe everything becomes
in the glow of a passing comet.
There is no-one here.
Someone's just gone.
Leaving behind
A pair of unshut eyes.