He was a mystery in smoke and flags
Saying yes to the smoke, yes to the flags, . . .
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Softly, in the dusk, a woman is singing to me;
Taking me back down the vista of years, till I see
A child sitting under the piano, in the boom of the tingling strings . . .
Who would true Valour see
Let him come hither;
One here will Constant be, . . .
Pity the beautiful,
the dolls, and the dishes,
the babes with big daddies . . .
One granite ridge
A tree, would be enough
Or even a rock, a small creek, . . .
The rumble of the night sounds
even in the bright daylight
of morning. Life blooms amid . . .
A woman in the shape of a monster
a monster in the shape of a woman
the skies are full of them . . .
I like to find
what's not found
at once, but lies . . .
I lived in the first century of world wars.
Most mornings I would be more or less insane,
The newspapers would arrive with their careless stories, . . .
The jaunty crop-haired graying
Women in grocery stores,
Their clothes boyish and neat, . . .