Волны

           Onemustputasideantipathiesandjealousiesandnotinterrupt.Onemusthavepatienceandinfinitecareandletthelightsound,whetherofspiders’delicatefeetonaleaforthechuckleofwaterinsomeirrelevantdrain-pipe,unfoldtoo.Nothingistoberejectedinfearorhorror.Thepoetwhohaswrittenthispage(whatIreadwithpeopletalking)haswithdrawn.Therearenocommasorsemi-colons.Thelinesdonotruninconvenientlengths.Muchissheernonsense.Onemustbesceptical,butthrowcautiontothewindsandwhenthedooropensacceptabsolutely.Alsosometimesweep;alsocutawayruthlesslywithasliceofthebladesoot,bark,hardaccretionsofallsorts.Andso(whiletheytalk)letdownone’snetdeeperanddeeperandgentlydrawinandbringtothesurfacewhathesaidandshesaidandmakepoetry.

           ’NowIhavelistenedtothemtalking.Theyhavegonenow.Iamalone.Icouldbecontenttowatchthefireburnforever,likeadome,likeafurnace;nowsomespikeofwoodtakesthelookofascaffold,orpit,orhappyvalley;nowitisaserpentcurledcrimsonwithwhitescales.Thefruitonthecurtainswellsbeneaththeparrot’sbeak.Cheep,cheep,creaksthefire,likethecheepofinsectsinthemiddleofaforest.Cheep,cheep,itclickswhileouttherethebranchesthrashtheair,andnow,likeavolleyofshot,atreefalls.ThesearethesoundsofaLondonnight.ThenIheartheonesoundIwaitfor.Upandupitcomes,approaches,hesitates,stopsatmydoor.Icry,"Comein.Sitbyme.Sitontheedgeofthechair."Sweptawaybytheoldhallucination,Icry,"Comecloser,closer".