Blue Scarf

Painted with a blue of high zenith
Shimmering over with silver brocaded in smooth running patterns

A soft stuff with dark knotted fringes
It lies there

Warm from a woman's soft shoulders
And my fingers close on it caressing
Where is she, the woman who wore it?
The scent of her lingers and drags me

A languor fire-shotted runs through me
And I crush the scarf down on my face
Engulf in the warmth and the blueness
And my eyes swim in cool tinted heavens
Around me are colors of marble and a diapered something in pavement
Rosemeats blow and patter against it
Lotus-stones absolute to tingles

A dark green jade throws its shadow half over the floor

A big-bellied frog hops through the sunlight
And plops in the cold bubbled water of a basin
Stuck in the black and white marble
The west wind has lifted a scarf
On the seat close beside me
The blue of it is a violent outrage of color

She draws it more closely about her
And it ripples beneath her slight stirring
Her kisses are sharp bits of fire
And I burn back against her
A jewel-hard and white
Stalked flaming flower
Till I break to a handful of singleness

And open my eyes to the scarf shining blue
In the afternoon sunshine
How long clocks can tick when a room is empty
And one is alone