Aren’t there bigger things to talk… Than a window in Greenwich Villag… And hyacinths sprouting Like little puce poems out of a si… Some cosmic hearsay—

We are old, Old as song. Before Rome was Or Cyrene. Mad nights knew us

Out of fiery contacts ... Rushing auras of steel Touching and whirled apart ... Out of the charged phallases Of iron leaping

Cherry, cherry, glowing on the hearth, bright red cherry... When you try to pick up cherry Celia’s shriek

A spring wind on the Bowery, Blowing the fluff of night shelter… Off bedraggled garments, And agitating the gutters, that ej… Like lewd growths.

Was there a wind? Tap... tap... Night pads upon the snow with moccasined feet... and it is still... so still... an eagle's feather might fall like a stone. Could there have been a storm...

Blow through me wind As you blow through apple blossoms… Scatter me in shining petals over… Joyously I reunite’€¦ sway and ga… Sedately I walk by the dancing fe…

Skyscrapers... remote, unpartisan.… Turning neither to the right nor l… Your imperturbable fronts.... Austerely greeting the sun With one chilly finger of stone...…

Long vast shapes... cooled and flu… Lidless windows Glazed with a flashy luster From some little pert café chirpin… And down among iron guts

It is dark’€¦ so dark, I remember… It is still’€¦ so still, I hear t… Ten times we had watched the moon Rise like a thin white virgin out… And round into a full maternity’€¦

Snow wraiths circle us Like washers of the dead, Flapping their white wet cloths Impatiently About the grizzled head,

That day, in the slipping of torso… on the bloodied ooze of fields plo… And the smoke bluish near earth an… floating like cotton-down, And the harsh and terrible screami…

Is it you I see go by the window,… at me nor any one, And your shadow swaying from East… Strange that you should be walking… And your legs tied up with a knot…

Your love was like moonlight turning harsh things to beauty, so that little wry souls reflecting each other obliquely as in cracked mirrors’€¦ beheld in your luminous spirit their own r...

Not yet hast Thou sounded Thy clangorous music, Whose strings are under the mounta… Not yet hast Thou spoken The blooded, implacable Word...