Every Other Name

I felt every teardrop that you lay on Wounded Knee
And I have devoured the blood from your silver grail,
The blindness of the sweetheart of every infantryman,
My dark-feathered wings flap the irons upon every voice.
I am the shore and depths of every painted sea.

Closest to MacDuff of all,
it was clear that my reason is doom till least
And last, long at last with heavy hand
my steadfastness added another sad victory;
Like a pale coat of all tomorrows,
of creeping slow snow
I turn gold to dust and
am the lifting of every wedding veil.