BARE BONES SHALL BURGEON SOON
Before I had a house, I made a broom
and swept clear ground to draw a mate.
I laid my broom and my lover stepped over it:
his kiss went in without a wimble!
Hunger was dropping from his nose,
he built our house . . . Then came my fears:
that mice-footprints should pit the dust,
hopping toads and crawling snakes:
that bread should moulder, milk go dry
and cobwebs blowse among the rafters:
my broom wear out: and forlorn ghosts
wander for love from room to room:
that a man with a shovel should stand by the door
and a woman with a bag should sit on the roof!
For how lovely, to the fleshless, bare bones are! . . .
But to sweet lovers there is only Spring.
(1945)
