THE stars that open and shut
Fall on my shallow
breast
Like stars
on a pool.
The soft wind, blowing cool
Laps little crest after
crest
Of ripples
across my breast.
And dark grass under my feet
Seems to dabble in
me
Like grass in a
brook.
Oh, and it is sweet
To be all these things, not to be
Any more
myself.
For look,
I am weary of myself!