Max Michelson

From “May in the City”

THE RED light is out.

Sleep, gnaw your way

In the dead-tired body

And in the limbs which cry out.

Enter, dawn!

Hop about, little bird of light!

Hop gently, with upturned claws,

Over the thrown-down body,

Over the extinguished hair.

Tree which grows near the house,

Spin and twine your shadows in there.

Burn with your shadows,

Wind around her your tendrils,

Limpid god!