EARTH

O when the wall of the world is open,
Who will have seen your nakedness?
Dawn wet with the dews of morning,
Seas burning with sunken suns,
Haunted by night: the crazy moon
Shivering and rolling in your waters.

The wall. O yes, the wall . . .
When it is wet in damp nylon clinging,
Yellow leaves,
Loin garments of a summer tree
Who will have seen it?

Neither summer nor sun is light enough,
Magnificent and all hidden, flowing lady.
Soft are the roses of your muddy bed;
Green are your sepulchered soft servants . . .
Dead?
Yea, in the evening
Pillowing your head.

Jay Cohen

Contempora, 1971