| from "is 5": Four: I... e.e. cummings... |
|
the moon looked into my window it touched me with its small hands and with curling infantile fingers it understood my eyes cheeks mouth its hands(slipping)felt of my necktie wandered against my shirt and into my body the sharp things fingered tinily my heart life |
| the little hands withdrew, jerkily, themselves |
|
quietly they began playing with a button the moon smiled she let go my vest and crept through the window she did not fall she went creeping along the air over houses roofs |
|
And out of the east toward her a fragile light bent gatheringly |
this site owned and maintained by James Dempsey...