The Fire of This

I cannot find a way through love and through To lose this ever-aching loneliness in vaster solitude Only a locked door The long remorse Vanished incommunicable moods The dolor in the bells of blinded lands The thousand-chorded monotones of pain Locked doors without keys Prisons without and prisons within Labyrinths of newsprint Coiled and rotting in your cave The black wastes of the evening sky Desolate oceans, and the light of lonely plains What in our lives is burnt in the fire of this? A burnt space through ripe fields