Ruin

                                 and backwards go

the men into the garden, and what is it

          herding them

but a haircut and a vacuous look they had

when they were twenty,

          which earned its horns twice over

          if they had the same

cut and look

when they were thirty. Forget about great

men, and soon the great forgetting

will be over, leaving all that is left all over.

Forward go long sleeves, a longitude,

and shame.

          What is herding them

you are. All over the world, curtains drew

          and obscured lush portages

the world over, and there were some sighs

but mostly it was better than continuing

to want better. Ponies cannot love

children. But O, those ponies. Those ponies.