He wrote

by David Hart

He wrote his dying notes, aha, aha,

        a note in the night, a note at dawn if dawn it was,
        if dawn or lamp, if note it was, written or only thought,
aha alone, aha, aha.

There is a door but not that door, not his door now,
the out-of-doors not his but different now, rebuilt but not to
celebrate his being gone, where he left his door ajar, ah ha.

Lord for thy tender mercy’s sake, lay not our sins… he’d say, ah ha,
Dear God and Father of mankind, lay not our sins…ah ha,
God be in my head, – and would tap his bald, his well-scratched.