Springing Jack

Green wooden leaves clap fight away
Severely practical, as they

Shelter the children, candy-pale
The chestnut-candles flicker, fail......

The showman's face is cubed clear as
The shapes reflected in a glass

Of water - (glog, glut, a ghost's speech
Fumbling for space from each to each)

The fusty showman fumbles, must
Fit in a particle of dust

The universe, for fear it gain
Its freedom from my box of brain

Yet dust hears seeds that grow to grace
Behind my crude-striped wooden face

As I, a puppet tinsel-pink
Leap on my springs, learn how to think

Then like the trembling golden stalk
Of some long-petalled star, I walk

Through the dark heavens until dew
Falls on my eyes and sense thrills through