PERMIT the stubborn bone that hives content and sorrow, rage and dream, foreknowledge of the blow that drives apart the cunning-jointed seam.
Permit the doomed skull time to free
the brain’s bright swarm of gold and black:
let air reclaim each velvet bee,
take every pollened vagrant back
that stormed the mind through eyes or hand or mouth on mouth or perilous word: a honeyed cloud above the land, let thought be visible and heard.
Then grant the heart one more stroke only, that the emptied hive may know it lonely.
ISSUE: Summer 1937