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CONQUEST
[Dedicated to F. W.]
Hard, chilly colors:
straw grey, frost grey
the grey of frozen ground:
and you, O sun,
close above the horizon!
It is I holds you—
half against the sky
half against a black tree trunk
icily resplendent!
Lie there, blue city, mine at last—
rimming the banked blue grey
and rise, indescribable smoky yellow
into the overpowering white!
PORTRAIT OF A YOUNG MAN WITH A BAD HEART
Have I seen her?
Only through the window
across the street.
If I go meeting her
on the corner
some damned fool
will go blabbing it
