In Distrust of Merits

Perhaps I shall go where the water is soft. The rivers undulate where I write—their coolness does not fail, Nor do the delicate petals so delicate.

Bleak winds can scratch like fingernails through quiet minds, But my growth is too slow for arrivals. Silence within silence I dare not try;
Reciprocating the aspects that engage my dreams.

Frog-puffs from the moonlane’s bank, Unfolding brilliances, shapeless sign-movements Beyond which strides heaven’s greenery—a ghostly glow.

The deftness with which I slip the lighter thoughts
Into the savage bloom
Of time and space—my fluvial altercations.

No, I shall not last long here
With the thickly sucked air
As your exile softens me, trembles my skin.

• Marianne Moore