Turning People Into Eaches*

* e.e. cummings

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227

You can take the light
But leave the gloom
As though you were never really here.
Before the air closed we
Stood at windows and on
Corners watching trespassers of
Pleasure whirl by. Perhaps kindness
Has allowed us something as we guests
Along for the voyage back to original time
Try to discover sainthood
But find only faceless days.
Here, on the floor, time comes flickering
Writing your history in shadows

The Wind Makes Dust

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224

Watch for the embarrassed flowers of spring,
Carnations I thought they were
Young between suddenness of arrival and departure
Trainless and with fingers of money,
New shoes and regardless happiness they
Make their way to the hatted city
Where happiness was the goal
Not realizing how temporary things really are.

Remember Where You Are

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222

I’ve seen the silent jets
The thanks and strapshift sash
Careworn coins slipped from
Old and aching hands
The chirping urchins who decide
Instead to go over the railing
Glanced through untold forward windows
Where women fall from grace
Along the path
How deeply home and beauty are
Given over to skirting flung
And arching forth
Generous shown anger and
Dropped into a cap
A visitor a minstrel
from the evening
Onelegged and mouthless
Growling as daedalus runs to the sea.

"Is It True In An Anthill Dreams Are a Duty?"*

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*Pablo Neruda- El Libro des las Preguntas

219

Child of worry
Day of gentle blessing
The north bridge to night
Carries us over the river scented- it
Seems as an awkward perfume-it
Smells of old men greeting dawn on the other side
Faith yawns as souls are washed away
The saint of streets raises a tiny glass-full of night
To her dark mouth and with a shaking hand
Finds a place to alight.
You-man who liked the suddenly cheery
Journey then passed your ticket to
The usual women who tucked it in gloves
And stumbled off down the road.

eyes know if a lit tle tree listens

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216

Art abandoned me
Left me out
On a wide and empty sea- no features there
But endless caps of peaks and green sky
(If I had served it as I had served my king)
If I am alone with a pocketful of teeth
Here, short and growling in the trees of Conmee
Then, a wonderful old fart is what I’ll be,
Who doesn’t know when to take his leave.
Certainly morning gives way to afternoon doubt
Before we were sure and delighted
We come to the breech probably to preach beauty
But are left muttering while accepting the charity
Of ignorant, sunny-winked strangers.

217

The dancing take the footpath
Delighted in walking to the province of light
And leave their good name
On an ignorant handkerchief
By the roadside six-eyed and coming of age
Then laugh and mail itself a letter
In the form of little red boxes
And finally forget about good.

O Africa

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215

Come dark
Define your houses
Place peace on
Plumes of smoke
Shifting altars wandering
In the eye of the night
Cease being wide in
The places where you now rest
Softly ascend and create awe
Easily you now fly
Last night I dreamt of you,
In your chair, so frail and old
Your crooked hip and sightless eye
Last night I flew.

If I Had Possession Over Judgement Day

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213

On nature’s drunken lips
Oh most beautiful bird
I forget if you fly south for winter
Not in certainty if I shall see you again
A smell of china and wood and drought
Thirty years’ of wanting,… why?
The Awful wearing of paper Jesus-masks
A laugh a murmur chanting waving now first grace
Amongst the passing legs
Homer in the stairwell
Is what you wrote for real?
My earth-mouth, art, rots away
As I create nature daily
This is how I know myself
This is how I remain.