Herald

Delivers papers to the doors of sleep,

Tosses up news on the shores of sleep

In the day’s damp, in the street’s swamp wades deep

And is himself the boy drowned, drowned with sleep.

Crosses to the corner with the lamp

Already dark, even asleep with the lamp,

Treads in the wet grass, wares, leaps as in swamp

The gutters dark with darkening of the lamp.

Hears only the thud and thud against the doors

Of the news falling asleep against the doors,

The slip and drip of mist on the two shores,

Sees without light or sight the coasts of doors.

Sees at a door a light, Herald, Sir?

Wakes to the whistle and light, Herald, Sir?

To the latch lifted and the face’s blur

Wakes; wakes coin, day, greeting, Herald, Sir.