& with a blunt cafeteria table knife
mr macadam clerical officer bludgeons
the half poached egg that is his

Hug me, mother of noise. 
Find me a hiding place. 
I am afraid of my voice. 

A queer mist stands from the sea today, 
A queer color like the primary blue 
Supposed but never limed in the environs 

The things between me 
and time: 
My daily forgetfulnesses. 

Lighthouse. Sand shadows. Burn of brandy.
A candlestick, black, 
She sent with no note for his birthday. 

Unwound from reason on a rope,
All rules of nature foiling,
Sinks the light-armed bathyscope. 

Powder-blue, deckle-edged,
And worn with fingering, 
A batch of letters, filed 

I thought (and before it was too late) 
my heart had begun to turn, that was 
shut to love, for I was adamant 

You will expect the light to come to hand 
        As birds to other men; you will demand 
(So gently that it seems a mere suggestion) 

Your fingers, wisps of blanket hair
Caught in their nails, extend to touch
The bedside roses, flaking in the heat.