Or call some battle or some temple-bell
Or many-curving pine
Or some cool truth-containing well
Or thin cathedral—mine!
ANNE KNISH
Opus 200
IF I should enter to his chamber
And suddenly touch him,
Would he fade to a thin mist,
Or glow into a fire-ball,
Or burst like a punctured light-globe?
It is impossible that he would merely yawn and rub
And say—"What is it?"
EMANUEL MORGAN
Opus 17
MAN-THUNDER, woman-lightning,
Rumble, gleam;
Refusal,
Scream.
Needles and pins of pain
All pointed the same way;
Parellel lines of pain
When the lips are gray
And know not what they say:
Rain,
Rain.
But after the whirl of fright
And great shouts and flashes,
The pounding clashes
And deep slashes,
After the scattered ashes
Of the night,
Heaven's height
Abashes
With a gleam through unknown lashes
Of delicious points of light.
ANNE KNISH
Opus 191
THE black bark of a dog
Made patterns against the night.
And little leaves flute-noted across the moon.