When women’s genesis is appeased
When it closes in front of the sharp
And oblique view
Of the sky

I come out ashamed
Piled high with fever
Improvable
For beauty
For saintly sensibility
For warmth

I collect the hard
Sharp
Redhot verbtools
I dragged the horsesacks
Firmly beneath eaves I bind them
And speak not

Her warm steps
Open the gate themselves
With an unreal touch
In bubbles of a dumb whisper
I carry her out magnificent
Back into her time

In the garden.