A Final Sonnet

For Chris

How strange to be gone in a minute!     A man
Signs a shovel and so he digs     Everything
Turns into writing a name for a day
is having a birthday and someone is getting
married and someone is telling a joke     my dream
a white tree     I dream of the code of the west
But this rough magic I here abjure     and
When I have required some heavenly music     which even now
I do     to work mine end upon their senses
That this aery charm is for     I’ll break
My staff     bury it certain fathoms in the earth
And deeper than did ever plummet sound
I’ll drown my book.
It is 5:15 a.m.                                           Dear Chris,

Used with permission of University of California Press, from The Collected Poems of Ted Berrigan by Ted Berrigan © 2005; permission conveyed through Copyright Clearance Center, Inc.