Abstraction

You are hurt

That I did not answer?

Pardon, I was not here when you spoke.

Of a Certain Poet

Structures that reach

Among the clouds

Must have a base in the mud.

Doubt

Can it be that there are not gods?

Even the Emperor is mightly disturbed,

At a cinder in his eye.

A Letter.

On eight pages

I say: a month

And six days have gone

Since I saw you last.

Restraint.

My pencil is too blunt

To write on your white pages.

Therefore I am cool towards you.

Vice Versa

I think Malays and Japs

Would enjoy pictured of us

In the National Geographic Magazine.

Warning.

The same ink

That trades noblest words

Can make an unsightly blot.

A Death

I speak of a sad thing:

The death of' several good poems

That a sea-captain never wrote.

Excuse

Was I so rude as to stare?

I thought of other eyes like yours

And, remembering, forgot to look away.

Weapons

Than gossip's tongue

There is no more deadly weapon

In all the world

Misunderstood.

People misinterpret

My silences, more than my words.

It is easier because

There are more of them