It will seem strange, no more this range on range
Of opening hopes and happenings.
Strange to be
One’s name no longer. Not caught up, not free.Strange, not to wish one’s wishes onward. Strange,
The looseness, slopping, time and space estrange.
Strangest, and sad as a blind child, not to see
Ever you, never to hear you, endlessly
Neither you there, nor coming … Heavy change!—
Sonnets to Chris