Sport 3: Spring 1989
In flowing black, down to black boots hard as stone
But hairless, shaven, like a gold-glowing dome
And one earring and one twinkling stud
In each nostril she sits sketching
Part of the drapes of the wall of frieze.
In the distance the torso of Iris agrees
A head's an inessential. Her carved clothes
Rush against her body during flight
Though hide the lightest beating of a heart.
Two headless creatures are making a sketch.
Zephyr over water (the last move
Of zephyr outside a zoo)
So light, unseen-to-move
A liquid stroke over liquid beneath.
Skin could do this to skin
And find fish within
Or heavier breathing aggrieved bears
Without ice holes to speak.
Stay, the moving fingers semaphore
To bear or maggot, herring or swan
Pushing their snouts towards us
Touch is our deepest theology.