when the new moon’s still a sliverpale fingernail againstthe blackboard& you hearthe shriek of wheels goneslightly off-true with the trackninety-nine cars heaped high with coalhurtling by in the darknessdon’t it make you shiverthat night train
in the book of the bodyis there no other writing true as romancewhich is true and which falseof two children perfectly madejoined at their belliesand only one pair of legswhat work will make us fearthe consequence of ithow is holding youso large a music