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| Coole Jerk When we were all the nine-and-fifty swans, When all our multiplicities took flight Through just one other's vast encouragement, Pleasure was not a dream one could wake from. Why are we fifty-nine wild swans? you sang, For fifty-nine's an odd number, of course. All that we are, I crooned, is in this mass, And one part of us has not wed for life: I don't believe in you for me; I don't Believe you're not that mournful thing, a man Who dreams and wakes hell-bent on capturing Song's ecstasy in images of song. Who, lover by lover, is still clamorous, Is some white sovereignty that oversees?
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