..
Now as the great paunch of this earth
Allows its punctuation by seeds, some to be
Trees, some men walking as trees, so the mind
Offers its cakes of spore to time in them:
The sumptuary pleasure-givers living on
In qualities as sure as taste of hair and mouth,
White partings of the hair like highways,
Permutations of a rose, buried beneath us now,
Under the skin of thinking like a gland
Discharging its obligations in something trivial:
Say a kiss, a handclasp: say a stone tear.
Lawrence Durrell
The Anecdotes
xv: In Rhodes, iii
Selected Poems
Peter Porter, editor
op. cit.
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