Over the egg, like an aviator
Unknowing but confident
That the instrument will behave.
The window outscaped
Brings the climate indoors.
The eye is free, adorned
By that which
is
becoming.
What is near, prevalent, adored
By the inner
is
echoed
By the ear. My conscience
Is receptive. I sight the cause
Of the exterior and so I hear
What is sounded in the interior.
Yet the break is this :
The germinal is split.
Not content with eye and sphere,
I race the continual
And drift to the .absurd,
The conjugal, from which
The flight is only heard.
The Time of Day
Or when I see a sailor in front of my house, on the sidewalk
He is hurrying, the church bells are ringing:
"Okay!" says the man who takes the money.
Or when two nuns enter the library, one of them
is
going to smile
She is not thinking of what is ahead :
"Okay!" says the man who takes the money.
Or
the mannequin who opens a closet full of hats
His arm holds his elbow and the hand caresses the face while
he selects:
"Okay!" says the man who takes the money.
Or when someone addresses me who is not a regular member of
the Army
And I answer, good afternoon, Major:
"Okay!" says the man who takes the money.
