| Icebaby She is become – all my mother’s anguish Was for nothing – as I would wish, Icebaby: contained Quiveringness, Galatea stayed Just as the Godwind tinged her marble And the blood began Creeping. - Dear thing, Nerved statuary, elegant Quick death: - I feared men for her, But thse, see them, untouching Her graven glow, Charactering industriously. – My child, Your eyes, ash- Grey shadows, hold this room Of colour and clay, These lovers, littlely. – Density Of wraith, ivory Poverty; we are twined In the Dis-dark garden, your wrought cold Fruit even still On the bough of me. Collection of the Artist | |
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