Riverside grovellings, for Robin

Rub me out, God,
like a misspelled letter,
wipe me out, God,
like solvent on a stain;
erase the whole confused
and wrongly totted
disarray of jottings
and make your notebook
pristine white
again.

The ears you gave me
begin to hear the lemmings,
the eyes you fashioned
watch the phoenix die,
the mind you wrought,
with all its convolutions,
is fading like a firework
in the sky.

From where I sit
I watch the passive river
hauling its heavy length
around a bend,
forced by caprice
to mindlessly meander
in dumb obedience
to some hidden end.
Why should it drag
through all those endless windings
which you so imperturbably decree,
and not implore you
for a straighter sounding
to ease its cruel exertion
to the sea ?

I do not have the patience
of the river,
I cannot bend
with dumb passivity,
when all the force and fury
of the torrent
shout that the way
should be direct and free.

Snuff me out, God,
like a used Swan Vesta;
stub me out, God,
and grant me the fag-end's end;
leave the harsh world
to rivers and to Robin.
Robin can cope
and rivers will always bend.