You are carried in a basket,
Like a carcase from the shambles,
To the theatre, a
Where they stretch you on a table.
Then they bid you close your eyelids,
And they mask you with a napkin,
And the anaesthetic
Hot and subtle through your being.
And you gasp and reel and
In a rushing, swaying rapture,
While the voices at your
Fade—receding—fainter—farther.
Lights about you shower and tumble,
And your blood seems crystallising -Edged and vibrant, yet within
Racked and hurried back and forward.
Then the lights grow fast and furious,
And you hear a noise of waters,
And you wrestle, blind and dizzy,
In an agony of effort,
Till a sudden lull accepts you,
And you sound an utter darkness . . .
And awaken . . . with a struggle . . .
On a hushed, attentive audience.
