doesn't spill the beans
balances like a papaya tree on a single
young elephant-leg.
IV
A glass brimming, not spilling,
the green trees
practicing their art.
'A wonder
from the true world,'
he who accomplished it
'overwhelmed with the wonder
which rises out of his doing.'
THE ABSENCE
Here I lie asleep
or maybe I'm awake yet-
not alone-and yet
it seems by moonlight
I'm alone, hardly hearing
a breath beside me. And those shadows
on the wall indeed are
not shadows but the
featherweight dancing echoes
of headlights sliding by.
Here I lie and wonder
what it is has left me, what element.
I can't remember my dreams
by morning.
Maybe, as Frazer tells,
my soul flew out in that moment
of almost-sleep.
If
it should go
