A pale blonde went by like a golden plant swaying her gifts. And my mouth went like a wave discharging on her breast lightningbolts of blood ... Under the trees light has dropped from the top of the sky, light like a green latticework of branches, shining on every leaf, drifting down like clean white sand ... If your eyes were not the color of the moon, of a day full of clay, and work, and fire, if even held-in you did not move in agile grace like the air, if you were not an amber week ... Home