The prince leans to the girl in scarlet heels,
Her green eyes slant, hair flaring in a fan
Of silver as the rondo slows; now reels
Begin on tilted violins to span
What is this, behind this veil, is it ugly, is it beautiful?
It is shimmering, has it breasts, has it edges?
I am sure it is unique, I am sure it is what I want.
I have done it again.
One year in every ten
I manage it----
Stasis in darkness.
Then the substanceless blue
Pour of tor and distances.
You do not do, you do not do
Any more, black shoe
In which I have lived like a foot
For thirty years, poor and white,