Will they occur,
These people with torsos of steel
Winged elbows and eyeholes

Awaiting masses
Of cloud to give them expression,
These super-people!--

And my baby a nail
Driven in, driven in.
He shrieks in his grease,

Bones nosing for distances.
And I, nearly extinct,
His three teeth cutting

Themselves on my thumb--
And the star,
The old story.

In the lane I meet sheep and wagons,
Red earth, motherly blood.
O You who eat

People like light rays, leave
This one
Mirror safe, unredeemed

By the dove's annihilation,
The glory
The power, the glory.