The Mirror

In town it was very urban but in the country cows were covering the hills. The clouds were near and very moist. I was walking along the pavement with Anna, enjoying the scattered scenery. Suddenly a sound like a deep bell came from behind us. We both turned to look. "It's the words you spoke in the past, coming back to haunt you," Anna explained. "They always do, you know."       Indeed I did. Many times this deep bell-like tone had intruded itself on my thoughts, scrambling them at first, the rearranging them in apple-pie order. "Two crows," the voice seemed to say, "were sitting on a sundial in the God-given sunlight. Then one flew away."       "Yes . . . and then ?" I wanted to ask, but I kept silent. We turned into a courtyard and walked up serval flights of stairs to the roof, where a party was in progress. "This is my friend Hans," Anna said by way of introduc- tion. No one paid much attention and severa...

Stand and face me, dear; release That fineness in your irises. May you bed down, Head to breast, upon The flesh Of a plush Companion.

Why—do they shut Me out of Heaven? Did I sing—too loud? But—I can say a little "Minor" Timid as a Bird! Wouldn't the Angels try me Just—once—more Just—see—if I troubled them But don't—shut the door! Oh, if I—were the Gentleman In the "White Robe" And they—were the little Hand—that knocked Could—I—forbid?