“The King of Freedom, were the words on a shield beside him. His yellow hair streamed across the rug. Above him, a mask, fastened on the wall, spoke:
“ ‘Shut the temple...let the lamps burn...make no noise...take a hair from his head...go.’
“The slave shut the temple, carefully.
“Years later, in prison, he bent over to examine the golden hair he had kept and it burst into flame and became a torch which he used to light his way to freedom.”
P
His flames and heat are fuel
For seaman’s muscles, his sea eyes,
Devil of laughter and devil moods,
His sinking-rising delicacy.
The initial union is relief