Virgilian Tragedy Under July Night With an Aeroplane

To refuse Virgilian
Premises is but
Admitting less than
Hope.
That
Is not the Nature of

Permeable
Sky nor the quickness of
Breath. At
Midnight under a
Canopy we are so
Much more and less
Ourselves. We are as we have been since
The Storm tossed
Ships upon Italy's
Wild shorelines---
A plane
Bound to land and from
It lights are
Constant, blinking Lockean
Treatises on Government
And the dying remarks
Of Cicero.

Night is
Larger in
February. The sky
Extols its paramount effort it is July
And
Cold.

A Pyrrhic Victory at best we leap
Thru', our burning hoops
Standing
Gasping for breath at
Tragedy because we are deathly
Afraid of our own
Beautiful mirrors:

Virgil
Pausing if not
To explain than to weep
With us

MacNeice appears
As sudden as
Ice in Summer.
Ovid
And Plutarch and
Varied Irish
Poets Preach to the plane tailing
Sound
Behind it.