• Eurus
• After H.D.
• Water cannot ripen the dust,
• cannot raise brown bramble out
• from quickest seed,
• nor milk an earthy mist
• from my slight hands.
• O wind, dry me up—
• scorch the moss from my stones,
• pour out pools of heat
• across my broad planks
• and shrivel them,
• broil my thick walls
• in your rough smoke.