The wall and I.

I find my eye in the dark,

Enlarged on the opposite wall,

And we are mirrors fighting

Like sails that billow, their cabins

A stomach of memory

So far from the gathering heat,

The driven ants,

Who come turn up the music

In the drunken white

Of newly grasped beach stones.

The words are jarring fast,

Too wide in my spinning

For effective deflection

From this young place.

I made a fortress of my kitchen

With its chequered tablecloth

And the dirty jug

Which may have smashed

Upon the floor

Before I soaped the blood

Into smiling suds,

And we all smiled back,

My witnesses and I,

At the gossamer forms

Of window dreams.

By the daily force of wind

The eye strains;

We needn't touch, for we are

Arching like the free,

Delicately poised

To hold the night at bay

To keep on counting ants

Until distinctions crumple

And I meet mine again.

Reviews

[Distant horizons]

Like the flow and strong ending of this.