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Poem	One's grand flights, one's Sunday baths, One's tootings at the weddings of the soul Occur as they occur. So bluish clouds Occurred above the empty house and the leaves Of the rhododendrons rattled their gold, As if someone lived there. Such floods of white Came bursting from the clouds. So the wind Threw its contorted strength around the sky. Could you have said the bluejay suddenly Would swoop to earth? It is a wheel, the rays Around the sun. The wheel survives the myths. The fire eye in the clouds survives the gods. To think of a dove with an eye of grenadine And pines that are cornets, so it occurs, And a little island full of geese and stars: It may be the ignorant man, alone, Has any chance to mate his life with life That is the sensual, pearly spuse, the life That is fluent in even the wintriest bronze.
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