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— 24 —
Sold to them men knock blindly together
splitting their heads open
That is why boxing matches and
Chinese poems are the same — That is why
Hartley praises Miss Wirt
There is nothing in the twist
of the wind but — dashes of cold rain
It is one with submarine vistas
purple and black fish turning
among undulant seaweed —
Black wind, I have poured my heart out
to you until I am sick of it —
Now I run my hand over you feeling
the play of your body — the quiver
of its strength —
The grief of the bowmen of Shu
moves nearer — There is
an approach with difficulty from
the dead — the winter casing of grief
How easy to slip
into the old mode, how hard to
cling firmly to the advance —
