HOW many feet ran with sunlight, water, and air?
What little devils shaken of laughter, cramming their little ribs with chuckles,
Fixed this lone red tulip, a woman’s mouth of passion kisses, a nun’s mouth of sweet thinking, here topping a straight line of green, a pillar stem?
Who hurled this bomb of red caresses?—nodding balloon-film shooting its wireless every fraction of a second these June days:
Love me before I die;
Love me—love me now.
