When You Lie

When you lie in the Bed of lost Flag-Cloth, with blue-black Syllables, in Snow-Eyelash-Shadow, the Crane through Thought- showers, comes gliding, steely- you open for him. His beak ticks the Hour for you at every Mouth – at every bell-stroke, with red-hot Rope, a Silent- Millennium, Un-Pulse and Pulse mint each other to death, the Dollars, the Cents, rain hard through your Pores, in Second-Shapes you fly there and bar the Doors Yesterday and Tomorrow – phosphorescent, Forever-Teeth, buds the one, and buds the other breast, towards the Grasping, under the Thrusts –: so thick, so deeply strewn the starry Crane- Seed.