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)