To Anne Knish

Madam, you intrigue me!

I have come this far

Cautiously sneezing

Along the dusty highroad of convention,

But now it leads no farther toward you.

Today

I have reached the cross roads —

A weather-beaten sign-board

Blazons undecipherable wisdom

Of which the arrow-heads, even,

Have been effaced.

Eastward, it leads through cultivated fields

Of intellectual fodder,

Where well-fed cattle, herding together,

Browse content:

Are you of these?

Westward, is a lane, hedge-bordered,

Shady, and of gentle indirection,

In May, a bower of sentimental bloom,

But this November weather

Betrays its destiny, the poultry yard

Where geese foregather.

And there ahead, the ancient, swampy way

Modernized by a feeble plank or two:

But the morass of passion lures me not!

I see a vision of two plunging feet,

Discreetly shod, yet struggling in vain —

Slime

Creeps ankle-high, knee-high, thigh-high,

Till all is swallowed save a brave silk hat

Floating alone, a symbol of the creed

I perished shedding.

Yet somewhere you

Intelligent of my distress

Smile, undisturbed —

I have no pedlar's license to submit,

No wares to cry, nor any gift to bring —

I do not know

Anything new —

In truth, then, what have I to do with you?

Yet, madam, you intrigue me!