gills puffing water. Now
they're yours, pronouncing their soundless 'o's.
Feed them the bread of your body.
But we're not fish lapped in gold.
Our nurse was warm:
the flesh with its frail ribs,
the eyes' moist hollow fire.
Those poppy-stamens, your eyebrow, mark a dangerous race.
I'm in love like a Turkish soldier
with a defenceless crescent—your lip
and its small red wings.
Dear Turkish woman, never be angry.
I'll be sewn up in a sack with you,
for you I'll swallow your dark words,
I'll fill with the shapeless water.
Maria, help of the overwhelmed,
one can't wait for death, one must sleep.
I'm standing at your threshold. Please
go away. Please go. Please stay.
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