Page:The Pot of Earth.pdf/23

 Clouding the cold sea water. She wished she were dead With dark flowers and her naked feet Stained crimson— Tell me, are the waters fed In the hillside? She heard the drip, the beat Of seas gathering underground. She heard The moon moving under Perkins Street— Why do you circle here, O lost sea bird! Under the root of the pine-tree, under the stone She heard the red surf breaking. This occurred When she was thirteen years— When the withered cone Fell from the pine-tree in the ancient spring The river turned to blood—and they had gone