Dream Song 29

Dream Song 29

By John Berryman
Saturday, March 9, 2019

There sat down, once, a thing on Henry’s heart
só heavy, if he had a hundred years,
& more, & weeping, sleepless, in all them time,
Henry could not make good.

Starts again always in Henry’s ears,
the little cough somewhere, an odour, a chime.

And there is another thing he has in mind
like a grave Sienese face a thousand years
would fail to blur the still profiled reproach
of.

Ghastly, with open eyes, he attends, blind.

All the bells say: too late.

This is not for tears; thinking.

But never did Henry, as he thought he did,
end anyone and hacks her body up,
and hide the pieces, where they may be found.

He knows: he went over everyone, & nobody’s missing.

Often he reckons, in the dawn, them up.

Nobody is ever missing.