But she drowned in the whirlpool of my own dark river
And she cries in the watervoice a last farewell.
In her hands are the days of an open book
And the current is washing the love from her eyes
And the sound of her voice are the cries of a fish
As she sinks in the weed and the love of the rain;
For she walked in the once of a never again
Where the storm never ends and the rivers are aflood,
And her face in the corners of the zigzag light
With the wet streaming down was a saltwhite skull.
Then my own dark stream led her on into ruin
Of the long black river in the tunnel of fire;
As she passed by the banks of the honeysuckle morning
She drowned in the ripples of a jumping fish.
She drowned in the whirlpool of my own dark river
And she cries in her watervoice a last farewell.