Green sea-tarnished copper And sea-tarnished gold Of cupolas. Sea-runnelled streets Channelled by salt air

Blame us for these who were cradle… Watching our sidelong watching, fe… Playing their blind-man’s-bluff in… Their follow-my-leader on a stair…

Serrations of chimneys Stone-black perforate Velvet-black dark. A tree coils in core of darkness. My swinging

I, after difficult entry through m… And stumbling childhood (hitting m… I, intricate, easily unshipped, un… Cut off in my communications; stam… A dialect shared by you, but not y…

If a man says half himself in the… Way a tune shakes into equilibrium… Or approximates to a note that nev… Says half himself in the way two p… Flow to each other and softly sepa…

Music curls In the stone shells Of the arches, and rings Their stone bells. Music lips

When you are slightly drunk Things are so close, so friendly. The road asks to be walked upon, The road rewards you for walking With firm upward contact answering…

The birds’ shrill fluting Beats on the pink blind, Pierces the pink blind At whose edge fumble the sun’s Fingers till one obtrudes

Dogs take new friends abruptly and… Cats’ meetings are neat, tactual,… Monkeys exchange their fleas befor… Snakes, no doubt, coil by coil rea… We then, at first encounter, shoul…

The clock disserts on punctuation,… The clock’s voice, thin and dry, a… The clock insists: a lecturer demo… Loudly, with finger raised, when t… But time flows through the room, l…

Light’s patterns freeze: Frost on our faces. Light’s pollen sifts Through the lids of our eyes... Light sinks and rusts

We being so hidden from those who Have quietly borne and fed us, How can we answer civilly Their innocent invitations? How can we say “we see you

Within the church The solemn priests advance, And the sunlight, stained by the h… Dyes a yet richer red the scarlet… And the scarlet robes of the young…

This trumpeter of nothingness, emp… To keep our reason dull and null a… This man of wind and froth and flu… The wares of any who reward him we… Praising whatever he is paid to pr…

This is not Love, perhaps, Love that lays down its life, that many waters cannot quench, nor the floods drown, But something written in lighter i…