from Derek Walcott's "Sabbaths, W.I." (p 79)
"the burnt banana leaves that used to dance
the river whose bed is made of broken bottles
the cocoa grove where a bird whose cry sounds green and
yellow and in the lights under the leaves crested with
orange flame has forgotten its flute"
the great salamander wings that always laugh
the windy-house birch that plays with crushing seagulls
the surrender dove in a church with bells that teem and
thunder and with whose right, tell it to thieves, bested witth
rushed fame split asunder the roof
my dear fedora felt with pictures light
and heavy, with gears all numb in waxen brightness
and linoleum on a floor cut out from straw with
plastic, forget the stars, beg in a skirt, and leave by
bus route back apparently hit
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