Necessity

I

They will bite us and the blood
Will spurt or leak?
But there is a sound in death,
For it is not restless:
The rest filters into the white
Noise, silent as a pearl;
There are pebbles on the beaches by the stainless
Sand.

II

Oh lover, give me a hand, zirconic
Balconies by conic
Trees, the bearers of purple fruit
And news, await! – This is the gospel
Of blossomings and springs,
When the whirling caucus of the winds
Subsides before a Zephyr's might,
While the geneses of cherries
Blush above the green.