At "The Priory"

I am writing this letter for the girl who lived lonelier 
   than the moon
the girl who one day alighted in the mirror
and with a little smile	      pulled a stone slab off my chest

Have you walked in the shoes at the foot of the stairs? 
Why don’t you saddle the horses’ neighing? 
It must be your eyes
that sometimes sound   a few galloping neighs    have 
    horses

Our last happiness was the wind that’s gone with the wind

Even cows don’t lick at the river photo in these newspapers 
   nowadays
God’s legs have stuck out of the clouds’ skirts
These beds have come through women of old
Attack! 	Row your oars!
The sea never has enough boats for swimming.

We are human again

I have heard, from this very line you are hearing, at the end of the poem I am writing, 
at first dusk descends a little, then it rains and in the end the sound of the unsaddled 
neighing of a herd of horses is running in my shoes. 

The clatter of my feet in the stretch of my shoes by your side 
							                                          dies today
I don’t know what wool to pull 	  over I don’t know     
                                                                            I don’t know?

Like a woman who lived two years in my eyes
isn’t it a sin to drag me so from bed to bed?
How can I command these trembling soldiers facing you, O life 
							                                                   to fire? 
From the shoes at the foot of the stairs 
			                comes the sound of galloping horses
don’t you believe me? 

You! Standing there beyond the end of this letter
just send me two eyes 
                                   so I can cry 

AT "THE PRIORY"