1941

for robert delaunay

From Poems with No First Names
the blocks of dawn crumble
the star dims
on tiptoe
i am a point
using the polite or the familiar form
you've got to play it square
so there
the winter is neither a man nor a woman
the flowers are black with joy
the droning of the propellers of the moon
a stream comes up...
the elephant is in love with the millimeter

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