A ghost in outer moonlight, a surrendered
Sweetness, and he stood there like a dead man,
A noble dead man, numbering his loss.
Now, multiplied, it smote him. This one too—
In fall—he would be losing this one too,
In fall. Or even here, while he stood looking,
Here, with that lithe one calling from the door.
For there he was, the last one to go through,
And Daniel thought the signal came again:
An elbow’s twitch, a twirl of his live staff,