  Dawn?—no, the hunted transparency of dawn Curving from the white throat of a child And shaken in the still cup of his face. Then a sudden dispersal of swerving light Carrying away the defeated Wisdom of a smile. Thought?—no, the persistent shudder Of emotion that is almost thought. The invisible recklessness of perfume Enveloping the beginning of a question. Sadness?—no, the growth of a dim inclination To delve into the rancid importance of flesh: Then weeping, to wash away The ritual of disappointment. |
|
