LOVE LIES SLEEPING
(And all the employees who work in plants
Where such a sound says "Danger," or once said "Death,"
Turn in their sleep and feel
The short hairs bristling
On back of necks.) The cloud of smoke moves off.
A shirt is taken off a thread-like clothes-line.
Along the street below
The water-wagon comes
Throwing its hissing, snowy fan across
Peelings and newspapers. The water dries
Light-dry, dark-wet, the pattern
Of the cool water-melon.
I hear the day-springs of the morning strike
From stony walls and halls and iron beds,
Scattered or grouped cascades,
Alarms for the expected:
Queer cupids of all persons getting up,
Whose evening meal they will prepare all day,
You will dine well
On his heart, on his, and his,
So send them about your business affectionately,
Dragging in the streets their unique loves.
Scourge them with roses only,
Be light as helium,
For always to one or several morning comes,
Whose head has fallen over the edge of his bed,
Whose face is turned
So that the image of
The city grows down into his open eyes
Inverted and distorted. No. I mean.
Distorted and revealed,
If he sees it at all.
ELIZABETH BISHOP
15
