THE COLD NIGHT
| It is cold. The white moon is up among her scattered stars— like the bare thighs of the Police Seargent’s wife—among her five children.... No answer. Pale shadows lie upon the frosted grass. One answer: It is midnight, it is still and it is cold...! White thighs of the sky! a new answer out of the depths of my male belly: In April.... In April I shall see again—In April! the round and perfect thighs of the Police Sergent’s wife perfect still after many babies. Oya! |