In the broken light, in owl weather, <br />Webs on the lawn where the leaves end, <br />I took the thin moon and the sky for cover <br />To pick the cat's brains and descend <br />A weedy hill. I found him groveling <br />Inside the summerhouse, a shadowed bulge, <br />Furred and somnolent.—"I bring," <br />I said, "besides this dish of liver, and an edge <br />Of cheese, the customary torments, <br />And the usual wonder why we live <br />At all, and why the world thins out and perishes <br />As it has done for me, sieved <br />As I am toward silences. Where <br />Are we now? Do we know anything?" <br />—Now, on another night, his look endures. <br />"Give me the dish," he said. <br />I had his answer, wise as yours.<br /><br />Weldon Kees<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/colloquy/
