I remember The crackle of the palm trees Over the mooned white roofs of the town... The shining town... And the tender fumbling of the surf On the sulphur-yellow beaches...
Let me cradle myself back Into the darkness Of the half shapes... Of the cauled beginnings... Let me stir the attar of unused air, Elusive... ironically fragrant As a dead queen's kerchief......
Out of the night you burn, Manhattan, In a vesture of gold - Span of innumerable arcs, Flaring and multiplying - Gold at the uttermost circles fading Into the tenderest hint of jade,...
Your love was like moonlight turning harsh things to beauty, so that little wry souls reflecting each other obliquely as in cracked mirrors... beheld in your luminous spirit...