When little boys grown patient at last, weary,
Surrender their eyes immeasurably to the night,
The event will rage terrific as the sea;
Their bodies fill a crumbling room with light.
Then you will touch at the bedside, torn in two,
Gold curls now deftly intricate with
As the windowpane extends a fear to
From one peeled aster drenched with the wind all day.
And over his chest the covers in the ultimate
Will mount to the teeth, ascend the eyes, press
The locks while round his sturdy belly
Suspended breaths, white spars above the wreck:
Till all the guests, come in to look, turn
Their palms, and delirium assails the
Of Norway where you ponder, and your little
Reels like a sailor drunk in a rotten skiff.
The bleak sunshine shrieks its chipped music
Out to the milkweed amid the fields of wheat.
There is a calm for you where men and
Unroll the chill precision of moving feet.
