Small Woman on Swallow Street

Four feet up, under the bruise-blue
Fingered hat-felt, the eyes begin. The sly brim 
Slips over the sky, street after street, and nobody 
Knows, to stop it. It will cover
The whole world, if there is time. Fifty years’ 
Start in gray the eyes have; you will never 
Catch up to where they are, too clever 
And always walking, the legs not long but 
The boots big with wide smiles of darkness 
Going round and round at their tops, climbing. 
They are almost to the knees already, where 
There should have been ankles to stop them. 
So must keep walking all the time, hurry, for 
The black sea is down where the toes are 
And swallows and swallows all. A big coat
Can help save you. But eyes push you down; never 
Meet eyes. There are hands in hands, and love 
Follows its furs into shut doors; who
Shall be killed first? Do not look up there:
The wind is blowing the building-tops, and a hand 
Is sneaking the whole sky another way, but 
It will not escape. Do not look up. God is 
On High. He can see you. You will die.