VIII

The fountain blows its breathless spray

From me to you and back to me.

Whipped, tossed, curdled,

Crashing, quivering:

I hurl kisses like blows upon your lips.

The dance of a bee drunken with sunlight:

Irradiant ecstasies, white and gold,

Sigh and relapse.

The fountain tosses pallid spray

Far in the sorrowful, silent sky.