Leaving Charon to Bail the Boat

The last line scrabbles up the slope,
As if the thoughts had changed their mind

And were trying to lift the whole
In a sudden elevation,

But it’s so weighty and altered
In tone from the rest of the text

That its burden sways the vessel
With its rifle butt to be blessed,

Throat, eye, and knucklebone. Boy’s hair.
Look at the moon, bowl yet to fill

But still too good to use. Shadows
Are bodiless shapes, yet they have

A song, for now they all belong
To time. There is nothing to get

The answers you can’t write—the love
Of endings is a love of form.