Sonnet Diminishing 

None of us witness the onset of the crepuscule:
Sliding into the incomplete, 
          our eyes grope for fresh light, and too fast meet crepusc—
Shadow slips across memory and muscle, 
          Assessed too soon, soon repus—
But I waver, in me still
          A verse and question, Eliot’s spasm, a grand epus,
cummings and sea-girl chastity. . .
          This new mystery of flesh, effloresces to pus
Of surrender, intimacy deeper than dawn.

          And oh, do not ask what joins us
Now, now, left behind, in the deepening,
          In this no-space of the me and u.
This unbecoming