Imagem retirada daqui. Even the sun-clouds this morning cannot manage such skirts. Nor the woman in the ambulance Whose red heart blooms through her coat so astoundingly --
A gift, a love gift Utterly unasked for By a sky
Palely and flamily Igniting its carbon monoxides, by eyes Dulled to a halt under bowlers.
O my God, what am I That these late mouths should cry open In a forest of frost, in a dawn of cornflowers.
