ISSUE: Summer 1927
When the woods are splattered with moon-gold,
I sit in the cool purple shadows.
In the darkness
I sit eating sweet grapes;
And watching the silver lizards.
Like ravelled fire they flash;
They are polished with slippery moon-slime;
And are sleek with the slidings of silver.
And their eyes gleam through the purple gloom,
Like green and amethyst dew.
