Cry

Contain me, cried stag's nostril and eye

that led their body like a smoke

through shape and shape

or the rampageous tree, that for a stroke

of lightning space, struck hoof to earth, and

sped was, or was tree

or the friend's eye

his space of heart, first to last stroke,-

endearing youth's shape, enduring age, a weathered hope.

BLIND MAN

Dawns that stand like chevaliers to man

and open tranquilly and in turn

stood, wooden in me: for eyes, two

driven pegs: eyes

not of glass blown, the rule

clear blue or grey, in man-but whittled, a marionette's

or mole's. Night my mother whispered. Her fingers

touched in stars' stead my eyes. Day, but no dawn.

Words, hearts, noon light, Lucifer,

love perhaps,-all wear my eyes'

eyeless skin.

And that seer shivering in deathsweat

does he have tears to spend

on his hands' botch-no eyes, no tears

for even him?