Even the sun-clouds this morning cannot manage such skirts.
Nor the woman in the ambulance Whose red heart blooms through her coat so astoundingly ----
A gift, a love gift
Utterly unasked for
By a sky
Palely and flamily Igniting its carbon monoxides, by eyes
Dulled to a halt under bowlers
O my God, what am I
That these late mouths should cry open In a forest of frost,
in a dawn of cornflowers
