in parentheses

That goodbye I wrote I wish away now, yet the word has roots, and a tower grows, and old it vanishes into the sky that never changes from that sliding day and falling shayd when I made the word take root, and only when old do I see its form full and clear and all the weathering my longing and damage, and wrapped inside me as a stair goes a name wrought upon the stone as the ghost upon the windowpane in the tower’s last dwell and cove where I dream a ghost and a word