Por Gertrude Buckman
Yes, she craves diminutive things:
The sea shell and the carousel
Obliquely seen through an opera glass,
And the faint colors on the wind that pass;
Not the red of the loud bell
But the shadow echoed in the well.
Yes, she is aware of innuendo:
The splendid underscoring of these things;
A skull is therefore Mexico,
And the hummingbird sings
Loudest. Not the jay, nor the gull,
But the ultimate infinitesimal.
Yes, she believes in overtones
The statues alive at twilight;
Not the word said, but the word unspoken,
Not the gift, but the token.
To her, a pinpoint instant star
Is the history of all incredible light.
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