| OCR Text |
Show H$ III. Your eyes are dark water sounding, the sparrow note of a lute string, tense from breast to curving back; silver thread, piercing and vibrant through the heart's shadow. Search and you lose all: rain drums on your hatless head, the ground recedes, unforgiving, a wave under your innocent feet. There is no map, no road, no acceptable expression for this mute landscape. Twelve magpies whirl and shriek watching an eagle feed on the sinless body of a doe. Iridescent, their feathers a mirrors to a dancing void, each reflecting, in a brief, broken flash your unconceived face. (3rd of 4 pp.) |
