are you still with us?

from IX

Penumbrate, a lily
distinctly shines, talisman
to that which is key-cold in me, and sealed.
Could be haemony, from some remote
and gracious fable, upholding the rod
or stem of sharp judgement, finally spared.
Are you still with us, spirit of difficult
forgiveness if I may so term you? The man
is old; it is more than age he girns for.
And I said: is there anything you think
you should tell me? Was there mirror
and did it breathe cold speculation?
He is knackered and there are no
schemes to revive him. The year unlocks,
hunkers, swings, its anniversary-round.

Geoffrey Hill, The Orchards of Syon