EATHER
Drawn through a death-dim hole,
With colors blurred together,
Persian pattern of a soul--

Is it enough to have belonged
To the exaltation of a bird
Round whom they thronged
Each time her high tail stirred?

. . . I loved a woman whose two eyes,
One blue, one gray,
Would block
Like cliffs my foothold in the skies . . .
She is dead, they say--
Dead as a peacock.

ANNE KNISH
_Opus 126_

HIS eyes
Are the resurrection.
Once when beneath the moonrise
They looked into mine,
Grey mists held mastery between us,
And I knew that his soul
Had gone down into death.
But tonight a golden star-dust
Is pouring through space,
And the mist is burned away by it.
Tonight his soul awakens
Out of its splendid cerements,
And through his eyes the miracle
Arises to the earth.

I have prayed long beside the tomb
And touched the grave-cloths
With living fingers.
I have lain my breasts
Against the granite
Of the sarcophagus
Where he was.
Prayers for the dead I offered up
And hecatombs.

Today there was a wonder in the sunrise.
I knew that there were glories in the sky
And new branches of willow on the earth.
And my soul trembled with prophecy.

I prophesied
The resurrection.
Now it has come.
And I lie shaken
Before its tumult.

EMANUEL MORGAN
_Opus 2_

HOPE
Is the antelope
Over the hills;
Fear
Is the wounded deer
Bleeding in rills;
Care
Is the heavy bear
Tearing at meat;
Fun
Is the mastodon
Vanished complete . . .

And I am the stag with the golden horn
Waiting till my day is born.

ANNE KNISH
_Opus 151_

CANDLE, candle,
Flicker and flow--
I knew you once--
But it was not long ago,
it was

Last night.
And you spoiled my otherwise bright
evening.

EMANUEL MORGAN
_Opus 62_

THREE little creatures gloomed across the floor
And stood profound in front of me,
And one was Faith, and one was Hope,
And one was Charity.

Faith looked for what it could not find,
Hope looked for what was lost,
(Love looked and looked but Love was blind),
Charity's eyes were crossed.

Then with a leap a single shape,
With beauty on its chin,
Brandished a little screaming ape . . .
And each one, like a pin,

Fell to a pattern on the rug
As flat as they could be--
And died there comfortable and snug,
Faith, Hope and Charity.

That shape, it was my shi