Master And Mistress

 As if I were composed of dust and air,
The shape confronting me upon the stair
(Athlete of shadow, lighted by a stain
On its disjunctive breast--I saw it plain--)
Moved through my middle flesh.
 I turned around,
Shaken and it was marching without sound
Beyond the door; and when my hand was taken

From my mouth to beat the standing heart, I cried
My distant name, thinking myself had died.

One moment I was entered; one moment then
I knew a total century of pain
Between the twinkling of two thoughts.
 The ghost
Knocked on my ribs, demanding, "Host! Host!
I am diseased with motion.
 Give me bread
Before I quickly go.
 Shall I be fed?"
Yielding, I begged of him: "Partake of me.

Whatever runneth from the artery,
This body and its unfamiliar wine,
Stored in whatever dark of love, are thine.
"
But he denied me, saying, "Every part
of thee is given, yea, thy flesh, thy heart.
"

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