THREE

now that fierce few flowers(stealthily) in the alive west begin requiescat this six feet of Breton big good body, which terminated in fists hair wood erect cursing hatless who (bent by wind)slammed hard— over the tiller;clattered forward skidding in outrageous sabots language trickling pried his black mouth with fat jibing lips, once upon a (that is over: and the sea heaving indolent colourless forgets)time Requiescat. carry carefully the blessed large silent him into nibbling final worms

Among these red pieces of day(against which and quite silently hills made of blueandgreen paper scorchbend ingthem -selves-U pcurv E,into: anguish(clim b)ing s-p-i-r-a- l and,disappear) Satanic and blasé a black goat lookingly wanders There is nothing left of the world but into this noth ing il trene per Roma si-gnori? jerk. ilyr,ushes

it is winter a moon in the afternoon and warm air turning into January darkness up through which sprouting gently, the cathedral leans its dreamy spine against thick sunset i perceive in front of our lady a ring of people a brittle swoon of centrifugally expecting faces clumsily which devours a man, three cats, five white mice, and a baboon. O a monkey with a sharp face waddling carefully the length of this padded pole;a monkey attached by a chain securely to this always talking individual, mysterious witty hatless. Cats which move smoothly from neck to neck of bottles,cats smoothly willowing out and in between bottles,who step smoothly and rapidly along this pole over five squirming mice; or leap through hoops of fire,creating smoothness. People stare, the drunker applaud while twilight takes the sting out of the vermilion jacket of nodding hairy Jaqueline who is given a mouse to hold lovingly, our lady what do you think of this? Do your proud fingers and your arms tremble remembering something fragile and which had been presented unto you by a mystery? . . . the cathedral recedes into weather without answering

impossibly motivated by midnight the flyspecked abdominous female indubitably tellurian strolls emitting minute grins each an intaglio. Nothing has also carved upon her much too white forehead a pair of eyes which mutter thickly(as one merely terriculous American an instant doubts the authenticity of these antiquities—relaxing hurries elsewhere;to blow incredible wampum

inthe,exquisite; morning sure lyHer eye s exactly sit,ata little roundtable among otherlittle roundtables Her,eyes count slow(ly obstre poroustimidi ties surElyfl)oat iNg,the ofpieces ofof sunligh tof fa l l in gof throughof treesOf. (Fields Elysian the like,a)slEEping neck a breathing a ,lies (slo wlythe wom an pa)ris her flesh:wakes in little streets while exactlygir lisHlegs;play;ing;nake;D and chairs wait under the trees Fields slowly Elysian in a firmcool-Ness taxis,s.QuirM and, b etw ee nch air st ott er s thesillyold WomanSellingBaloonS In theex qui site morning, her sureLyeye s sit-ex actly her sitat a surely!little, roundtable amongother;littleexactly round. tables, Her .eyes

candles and Here Comes a glass box which the exhumed hand of Saint Ignatz miraculously inhabits. (people tumble down. people crumble to their knees. people begin crossing people)and hErE cOmEs a glass box: surrounded by priests moving in fifty colours , sensuously (the crowd howls faintly blubbering pointing see yes) It here comes A Glass Box and incense with and oh sunlight— the crash of the colours(of the oh silently striding)priests-and- slowly,al,ways;procession:and Enters this church. toward which The Expectant stutter(upon artificial limbs, with faces like defunct geraniums)

Paris;this April sunset completely utters utters serenely silently a cathedral before whose upward lean magnificent face the streets turn young with rain, spiral acres of bloated rose coiled within cobalt miles of sky yield to and heed the mauve of twilight(who slenderly descends, daintily carrying in her eyes the dangerous first stars) people move love hurry in a gently arriving gloom and see!(the new moon fills abruptly with sudden silver these torn pockets of lame and begging colour)while there and here the lithe indolent prostitute Night,argues with certain houses

will out of the kindness of their hearts a few philosophers tell me what am i doing on top of this hill at Calchidas, in the sunlight? down ever so far on the beach below me a little girl in white spins,tumbles;rolling in sand. across this water,crowding tints:browns and whites showing,the dotting millions of windows of thousands of houses—Lisboa. Like the crackle of a typewriter,in the afternoon sky. goats and sheep are driven by somebody along a curve of road which eats into a pink cliff back and up leaning out of yellowgreen water. they are building a house down there by the sea,in the afternoon. rapidly a reddish ant travels my fifth finger. a bird chirps in a tree,somewhere nowhere and a little girl in white is tumbling in sand Clouds over me are like bridegrooms Naked and luminous (here the absurd I; life, to peer and wear clothes. i am altogether foolish, i suddenly make a fist out of ten fingers voices rise from down ever so far— hush. Sunlight, there are old men behind me I tell you;several,incredible,sleepy

but observe;although once is never the beginning of enough, is it(i do not pretend to know the reason any more than.)But look:up— raising, hoisting, a little perhaps that and this, deftly propping on smallest hands the slim hinging you —because it’s five o’clock and these(i notice)trees winterbrief surly old gurgle a nonsense of sparrows, the cathedral shudders blackening; the sky is washed with tone now for a moon to squat in first darkness —a little moon thinner than memory faint -er than all the whys which lurk between your naked shoulderblades.—Here comes a stout fellow in a blouse just outside this window, touching the glass boxes one by one with his magic stick(in which a willing bulb of flame bubbles) see here and here they explode silently into crocuses of brightness. (That is enough of life, for you. I understand. Once again. . . .)sliding a little downward,embrace me with your body’s suddenly curving entire warm questions

sunlight was over our mouths fears hearts lungs arms hopes feet hands under us the unspeaking Mediterranean bluer than we had imagined a few cries drifting through high air a sail a fishing boat somebody an invisible spectator, maybe certain nobodies laughing faintly playing moving far below us perhaps one villa caught like pieces of a kite in the trees, here and here reflecting sunlight (everywhere sunlight keen complete silent and everywhere you your kisses your flesh mind breathing beside under around myself) by and by a fat colour reared itself against the sky and the sea . . . finally your eyes knew me, we smiled to each other, releasing lay, watching (sprawling, in grass upon a cliff) what had been something else carefully slowly fatally turning into ourselves . . . while in the very middle of fire all the world becoming bright and little melted.