POEM-THOUGHTS

     Not true physical violence,
     but the kind that tears
     from the outside in
             -- is what I feel,
          awe in total splendor --
     skin against skin against skin:
     flesh that is loved to be touched,
                    deeply
               far and within.

                              II

     How can I say
     that Rome should not outlast our glory,
     nor Carthage dare raise again?
            (beause of what we hold)
     that Greece could not endure half so long
            ... our grounds to be
     never defied with simple, temple sculpture.

                               III
 

     Yet. what I -- flies further,
     curves at the stones...
     enters more than golden air to
                 rest its wings.
     Expands and expounds and renews
     on each return...
                 how weightless
     and sure we bind ourselves:

     today, in a word... the world
     tomorrow, drifting leeward off the sea:
             feelings that are thoughts

               become poems, scraps:
               ... the fatal fragments.
       (Too, Sappho could have had them.)

             Now, I give them on... for you.