31
-It is Spring's New England. Pussy willows wedge
up in the wet. Milky crestings, fringed
yellow, in heaven, eyed
by the melting hand-in-hand or mere
desirers single, heavy-footed, rapt,
make surge poor human hearts. Venus is trapt–
the hefty pike shifts, sheer-
in Orion blazing. Warblings, odours, nudge to an edge-
32
-Ravishing, ha, what crouches outside ought,
flamboyant,
ill,
angelic. Often, now,
I am afraid of you.
I am a sobersides; I know.
I
want
to take you for my lover.
-Do.
-I hear a madness. Harmless I to you
am not, not I? -No.
-I cannot but be. Sing a concord of our thought.
33
-Wan dolls in indigo on gold: refrain
my western lust. I am drowning in this past.
I lose sight of you
who mistress me from air. Unbraced
in
delirium of the grand depths, giving away
haunters what kept me, I breathe solid spray.
-lam losing you!
Straiten me on. - I suffered living like a stain:
34
I trundle the bodies, on the iron bars,
over that fire backward
&
forth; they burn;
bits fall. I wonder
if
I
killed them. Women serve my turn.
-Dreams! You are good. -No. -Dense with hardihood
the wicked are dislodged, and lodged the good.
In green space we are safe.
.
God awaits us (but I am yielding) who Hell wars.
497
