I forget if you ever shamed me by looking away when I bared my heart.

I only remember the words that stranded on the tremor of your lips; I
remember in your dark eyes sweeping shadows of passion, like the wings of a
home-seeking bird in the dusk.

I forget that you do not remember, and I come.



17


The rain fell fast. The river rushed and hissed. It licked up and swallowed
the island, while I waited alone on the lessening bank with my sheaves of
corn in a heap.


From the shadows of the opposite shore the boat crosses with a woman at the
helm.

I cry to her, "Come to my island coiled round with hungry water, and take
away my year's harvest."


She comes, and takes all that I have to the last grain; I ask her to take
me.