The earth, the rock and the oil of the earth, the

slippery frozen places of the earth, these are for homes

of rainbow bubbles, curves of the circles of a bubble,

curves of the arcs of the rainbow prisms—between sun

and rock they lift to the sun their foam feather and go.

. .

Throw your neck back, throw it back till the neck

muscles shine at the sun, till the falling hair at the

scalp is a black cry, till limbs and knee bones form

an altar, and a girl's torso over the fire-rock torso shouts

hi yi, hi yee, hallelujah.

. .

Goat girl caught in the brambles, deerfoot or fox-head,

ankles and hair of feeders of the wind, let all the covering

burn, let all stopping a naked plunger from plunging

naked, let it all burn in this wind fire, let the fire have

it in a fast crunch and a flash.

. .

They threw you into a pot of thorns with a wreath in

your hair and bunches of grapes over your head—your

hard little buttocks in the thorn—then the black eyes,

the white teeth, the nameless muscular flair of you,

rippled and twisted in sliding rising scales of laughter;

the earth never had a gladder friend; pigs, goats, deer,

tawny tough-haired jaguars might understand you.