Though weary, I still hold my hope,
As I’ve learned in life the ways
To scratch my stairs into the sheerest slope,
To twine of every breath a kernmantle rope,
And count tomorrow among my days.
But I’ve become a worn welcome to chance,
Having dreamt near all I’ve done;
Now on thinning cans in heavy-soled can’ts,
I’ve left the whole of me in every better dance
And owe more heart to no one.