The Length of the Legs

And then below them always the naked legs

divide, and bear away

down arches and arcades of their unknowing

the duck-white mornings of childhood:

or legs of athletes, great, and frilled and shot

by wind upon ambitious plains

flourishing the lungs of runners

show overweening knees that, gaunt, accost,

or silver stalks of girls

tensing the delicate hunger of their line

with scissor-smile are stepping long and straight.

And this is not the intricate kissing face

under the eyelash brush with voyeur care

burning on details

of those with brilliant eyes worried by life,

nor fingers' frantic wit

to do and do, the intellectual blood,

but what is neutral, target, in the body

(the virgin neck, the spine forever young,

the wrist forever cold)

that drawn and slim

carries the god in the machine

like calipers on plans

or pencils through scenarios of snow.