Operation

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.