Poems

THE RISING OF THE MOON

The ordinary orb,
sucking size from horizons,
then hardening slowly away,
shrinking to regency,

a long red pointer slanting
down to one queenly lid,
one discreet hand like a latch
across her lip: so much

to see and to say, to govern
unsayingly, dear fortune!

What enters the eye with blood
should leave the mouth with silence.


THREE LITTLE ODES

Auguring come the phantasies of a boy
who though becoming no builder knows transepts
...