Borodin

When the world was loveliness I was

A composer, Borodin, my left eye

Level with the floor beside toy men.

Wild work and havoc they made,

Being glad. I could draw a line

Would run straight through the minds of men,

Being a sociable angel,

Music before and after, blushing.

Heaven is a nonsense entirely sensible.

I was a child on the floor beside you,

Making music, becoming small in the rosy

Embrace of God’s best messenger.

I loved your havoc and your hair.