Page:Al Que Quiere.djvu/64

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a north wind,—there below you
how easily the long yellow notes
of poplars flow upward in a descending
scale, each note secure in its own
posture—singularly woven.

All voices are blent willingly
against the heaving contra-bass
of the dark but you alone
warp yourself passionately to one side
in your eagerness.


A PORTRAIT IN GREYS

Will it never be possible
to separate you from your greyness?
Must you be always sinking backward
into your grey-brown landscapes—and
 trees
always in the distance, always against
a grey sky?
 Must I be always
moving counter to you? Is there no
 place
where we can be at peace together
and the motion of our drawing apart
be altogether taken up?
 I see myself
standing upon your shoulders touching

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