Monday, December 10, 2012
Among the bumble-bees in red-top hay, a freckled field of
brown-eyed Susans dripping yellow leaves in July,
I read your heart in a book.
And your mouth of blue pansy--I know somewhere I have
seen it rain-shattered.
And I have seen a woman with her head flung between her
naked knees, and her head held there listening to the
sea, the great naked sea shouldering a load of salt.
And the blue pansy mouth sang to the sea:
Mother of God, I'm so little a thing,
Let me sing longer,
Only a little longer.
And the sea shouldered its salt in long gray combers hauling
new shapes on the beach sand.