Life is too short to silver over this tarnish. The gods, employed to haunt and punish husbands, have no hand for trigger-fine distinctions, their myopia makes all error mortal.
NewYear's Eve (1968)
Age is our reconciliation with dullness.Robert Lowell
We feel the machine slipping from our hands,
As if someone else were steering;
If we see the light at the end of the tunnel,
It's the light of the oncoming train.
A brackish reach of shoal off Madaket--The sea was still breaking violently and nightHad steamed into our North Atlantic Fleet,When the drowned sailor clutched the drag-net. LightFlashed from his matted head and marble feet,He grappled at the netWith the coiled, hurdling muscles of his thighs:The corpse was bloodless, a botch of reds and whites,Its open, staring eyesWere lustreless dead-lightsOr cabin-windows on a stranded hulkHeavy with sand.Robert Lowell