SUNSET He lay on his bed and wisdom ran away with the ant: he straightened his limbs and a woman made up her mouth and put out her ball to let: he laid his hands on his breast and there, by the jig-see puddle, he saw the one become many: he put his hands together and sadly he looked up at himself looking down on what once he was: he lay over on his side and his childhood struggled out of the muck and tumbled into the mire: he laid his hand beneath his cheek and a clean white worm got into his brain: he shut his eyes and haste came flying out of hell: he breathed deeply and someone said, The stink of man is upon him . . . Then he fell asleep and ate up his first cry.
(1940)