Hung by a thread more moments instant Henry's mind
super-subtle, which he knew blunt & empty & incurious
but when he compared it with his fellows'
finding it keen & full, he didn't know what to think
apart from typewriters & print & ink.
On the philosophical side
plus religious, he lay at a loss.
Mostly he knew the ones he would not follow
into their burning systems
or polar systems, Wittgenstein being boss,
Augustine general manager. A universal hollow
most of the other seems;
so Henry in twilight is on his own:
marrying, childing, slogging, shelling taxes,
It's rained all day. His wife has been away
with genuine difficulty he fought madness
whose breast came close to breaking.