Page:Al Que Quiere.djvu/17

 SUB TERRA

Where shall I find you, you my grotesque fellows that I seek everywhere to make up my band? None, not one with the earthy tastes I require; the burrowing pride that rises subtly as on a bush in May.

Where are you this day, you my seven year locusts with cased wings? Ah my beauties how I long—! That harvest that shall be your advent— thrusting up through the grass, up under the weeds answering me, that shall be satisfying! The light shall leap and snap that day as with a million lashes!

Oh, I have you; yes you are about me is a sense: playing under the blue pools that are my windows,— but they shut you out still, there in the half light.