| A BIRTHDAY PRESENT - CONTINUED |
| It stands at my window, big as the sky. It breathes from my sheets, the cold dead center where split lives congeal and stiffen to hgistory. Let it not come by the mail, finger by finger. Let it not come by word of mouth, i should be sixty By the time the whole of it was delivered, and too numb to use it. Only let down the veil, the veil, the veil. If it were death I would admire the deep gravity of it, its timeless eyes. I would know you were serious. There would be nobility then, there would be a birthday. And the knife not carve, but enter Pure and clean as the cry of a baby, And the universe slide from my side. |
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