I wanted you, nameless Woman of the South,
No wraith, but utterly--as still more alone
The Southern Cross takes night
And lifts her girdles from her, one by one--
Of lower heavens,--
Whatever call--falls vainly on the wave.
O simian Venus, homeless Eve,
Unwedded, stumbling gardenless to grieve
Windswept guitars on lonely decks forever;
Finally to answer all within one grave!
And this long wake of phosphor,
Furrow of all our travel--trailed derision!
Eyes crumble at its last kiss. Its long-drawn spell
Incites a yell. Slid on that backward vision
The mind is churned to spittle, whispering hell.
I wanted you...the embers of the Cross
Climbed by aslant and hubbling aromatically.
It is blood to remember; it is fire
To stammer back...It is
God--your namelessness. And the wash--
All night the water combed you with black
Insolence. You crept out simmering, accomplished.
Water rattled that tinging coil, your
Rehearsed hair--docile, alas, from many arms.
Yes, Eve--wraith of my unloved seed!
The Cross, a phantom, buckled--dropped below the dawn.
Light drowned the lithic trillions of your spawn.