With wrack from the battered valley, it is speckled with violent foam-heads
And tiger-striped with long lovely storm-shadow.
You love this better than the other mask; better eyes than yours
Would feel the equal beauty in the blue.
It is certain you have loved the beauty of storm disproportionately.
But the present time is not pastoral, but founded
On violence, pointed for more massive violence: perhaps it is not
Perversity but need that perceives the storm-beauty.
Well, bite on this: your poems are too full of ghosts and demons,
And people like phantoms how often life’s are
And passion so strained that the clay mouths go praying for destruction