SUMS WITH A PARTICULAR FOCUS

The years, these years that I drag after me
Change from six to seven: seventy now.
Am I these sums, are they the impedimenta
That I must haul? Some destiny of the stars?

Bit by bit it darkens in this cloister
Where silence bit by bit increases;
An ashen light is throbbing in the dimness
And glowing through transparent alabaster.

Twilight is noble when it is serene.
Reflection aids me, at this perilous point,
When I can sense that all the stakes are lost.

Memory restores the thought of that green hay,
Dry at day's end. Inevitable shadow
Must helplessly advance now at my side.