Page:Al Que Quiere.djvu/62

  in the black waters of the sky nor picked the yellow lilies that sway on their clear stems and no tree has waited long enough nor still enough to touch fingers with the moon.”

I looked and there were little frogs with puffed out throats, singing in the slime. 

SPRING STRAINS

In a tissue-thin monotone of blue-grey buds crowded erect with desire against the sky— tense blue-grey twigs slenderly anchoring them down, drawing them in— two blue-grey birds chasing a third struggle in circles, angles, swift convergings to a point that bursts instantly! Vibrant bowing limbs pull downward, sucking in the sky that bulges from behind, plastering itself against them in packed rifts, rock blue and dirty orange! But— 