There was a dead silence putting her mouth

close to an angry voice. It was very dry lips

curling up into a smile. Try again:

the best way to explain it

is to do it.

I should like to listen down chimneys

as large gentle eyes draw

a long breath.

That won’t do.

Every poem was a cloud of dust.

We can talk with delight about fishes

in some way. That might help a little. I should like to be

any shape, to be dignified, you know.

Little heaps of men remember

who you are, have sharper eyes

than most. Think again:

it gets easier further on.

There are two meanings packed

into a very tiny earthquake.

It would have to be very clever at explaining words.

The fishes explained, with a grin,

what sort of people live

about here.