Borodin

When the world was loveliness I was A composer, Borodin, my left eye Level with the floor beside toy men. Wild work and havoc they made, Being glad. I could draw a line Would run straight through the minds of men, Being a sociable angel, Music before and after, blushing. Heaven is a nonsense entirely sensible. I was a child on the floor beside you, Making music, becoming small in the rosy Embrace of God’s best messenger. I loved your havoc and your hair.