Tu ne me reconnais pas?
The night was a chord betweeen
brown and blue, and despite
the rain she parted her cape
to show him, in the gas-light's
feathery glow, the poppy
on the inside of her thigh.

Henut reclining in the Winter
Gardens, the icy satin
of her evening gown slashed
by the shadow of palm leaves…
Henut in a ripped tee-shirt,
her buttocks golden
in the candlelight…

The rattle of rain woke me,
and I went to the window. Reaching
for the shutter, I leaned out
over the blood-spattering tiles
and saw her with him, sodden
under the street-lamp. He knelt
in the foaming gutter.

Henut in the wind, her blue
dress confused with the sky—
under the shade other tugged straw hat
her mouth is filled with rose-petals.
The circular saw of the rainbow
carves the world in half.