Classic Poem

No lamp has ever shown us where to look.

Neither the promiscuous
And every-touching moon
nor stars
Either with their not much caring
nor
Lights to seaward and far off
Not meant for us,
nor, say, the flash
From darkened promontories that
Goes out, leaving an afterward
Of trees no more
nor even
The whole sun—
No—
Within
The buried staring eyes of one
A long time dead, long drowned, there stands
Still fixed upon impenetrable skies
The small, black circle of the sun.