2 | "Gypsy plunder" [ballade]

I know a few petty skills
that suffice to ward off hunger
I've been privy to sylvan rills
that grow lyric in wake of thunder
waited through predawn's chill wonder
noted who uncarts the horse
I review such gypsy plunder
but I don't perceive my source

I've watched how promise founders
knowing what time's game portends
I've appraised the batter's grounders
looked at how the goalie fends
I've sustained the loss of friends
muddled through its mute remorse
while afar my footstep wends
I do not perceive my source

I've shuffled through dreams askew
I've marveled how patience gentles
I've steeped medicinal brew
and boiled my share of lentles
I've kenned abject repentance
distinguished fine from coarse
I live out still this sentence
I do not perceive my source

William   what is the distance
that describes the river's course?
though I wade through wide existence
I do not perceive my source



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This is no. 2 in a sequence of ballades. The sequence is dedicated to W.S. Merwin, who is (perhaps presumptuously) the addressee of the "envoy" (final short stanza).

For ballade no. 1, see: "Ensconsed in tangles"