In this Ordinary Swoon

In this ordinary swoon

as I pass from life to death,

I feel no heat from the cold, pale moon;

I feel no sympathy for breath.
 

Who I am and why I came,

I do not know; nor does it matter.

The end of every man’s the same

and every god’s as mad as a hatter.

 

I do not fear the letting go;

I only fear the clinging on

to hope when there’s no hope, although

I lift my face to the blazing sun

 

and feel the greater intensity

of the wilder inferno within me.