I have been wondering

        What you are thinking about, and by now suppose
	
                     It is certainly not me.

        But the crocus is up, and the lark, and the blundering
	
                     Blood knows what it knows.

It talks to itself all night, like a sliding moonlit sea.

                     Of course, it is talking of you.

        At dawn, where the ocean has netted its catch of lights,
	
                     The sun plants one lithe foot

        On that spill of mirrors, but the blood goes worming through
	
                     Its warm Arabian nights,

Naming your pounding name again in the dark heart-root.

                     Who shall, of course, be nameless.

        Anyway, I should want you to know I have done my best,
	
                     As I'm sure you have, too.

        Others are bound to us, the gentle and blameless
	
                     Whose names are not confessed

In the ceaseless palaver. My dearest, the clear unquaried blue

                      Of those depths is all but blinding.

        You may remember that once you brought my boys
	
                     Two little woolly birds.

        Yesterday the older one asked for you upon finding
	
                     Your thrush among his toys.

And the tides welled about me, and I could find no words.

                     There is not much else to tell.

        One tries one's best to continue as before,
	
                     Doing some little good.

        But I would have you know that all is not well
	
                     With a man dead set to ignore

The endless repetitions of his own murmurous blood.

just a Great poem! S

I knew a woman, lovely in her bones, When small birds sighed, she would sigh back at them; Ah, when she moved, she moved more ways than one: The shapes a bright container can contain! Of her choice virtues only gods should speak, Or English poets who grew up on Greek (I'd have them sing in chorus, cheek to cheek.)

How well her wishes went! She stroked my chin, She taught me Turn, and Counter-turn, and stand; She taught me Touch, that undulant white skin: I nibbled meekly from her proffered hand; She was the sickle; I, poor I, the rake, Coming behind her for her pretty sake (But what prodigious mowing did we make.)

Love likes a gander, and adores a goose: Her full lips pursed, the errant note to seize; She played it quick, she played it light and loose; My eyes, they dazzled at her flowing knees; Her several parts could keep a pure repose, Or one hip quiver with a mobile nose (She moved in circles, and those circles moved.)

Let seed be grass, and grass turn into hay: I'm martyr to a motion not my own; What's freedom for? To know eternity. I swear she cast a shadow white as stone. But who would count eternity in days? These old bones live to learn her wanton ways: (I measure time by how a body sways.)

you-who are you? how do I feel about you? do I hate it that I love to be tied to you by love? untied wd I be free or lost?

but for your own sake:who are you? can I help? is there any thing I can do: are things working out all right for you? what are those black areas? are they parts of you that can't fall into place, come into light? are they longings & fears only dreams whisper?

I love you the best I know how: encounter me with belief:

are you getting yours? getting and giving yours, mine & ours, are we resolving most of the areas, are we touching on elation enough? do I love you mostly, or the thought of us together?

are you hoping that giving will make up for not getting? that wd be the course of saints: get, too: get it from me: I have it and having if for you, I get mine:

who are you, deeper? have I sounded you? was that bottom I struck? but oh up in the heart & around your breasts and to speak of the deep in your eyes, have I come into your measure? are you getting yours? have you been had? you've had me: I float every cell comes to this: you are beautiful: you are just beautiful: beautiful: thank you: