|If this is the widening gyre let me in!|
On the flight over I spent time reading the in-flight magazine, working on the crossword puzzle, napping, eating free pretzels and Sprite, as I do, and mouthing the words to The Second Coming. Out of my periphery I could see the passenger to my left staring at me out of his periphery. I slanted my poetry book on my lap so he would know I wasn't crazy, just memorizing a poem for an hour, obviously.
Here it goes for you by heart.
The Second Coming
Turning and turning in the widening gyre/the falcon cannot here the falconer/things fall apart; the center cannot hold/mere anarchy is loosed upon the world/the blood-dimmed tide is loosed and everywhere/the ceremony of innocence is drowned./The best lack all conviction while the worst are full of passionate intensity./Surely a revelation is at hand./Surely the Second Coming is at hand./The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out/when a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi troubles my site/somewhere in the sands of the dessert/a shape with the body of a lion and the head of a man/a gaze blank and pitiless as the sun/slowly moves its thighs/while all about it/reel the shadows of the indignant dessert birds./Darkness falls again and now I know/that 20 centuries of stony sleep/were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle/and what rough beast/its hour come round at last/slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
I have no idea if those line breaks are correct, nonetheless the grammar. I will check back in the morning after I've fully absorbed my first day of sun and gone for my first night swim.