Sunday, September 19, 2004


Electra, she ‘s always at the balancing of her sword on any
     fulcrum, that the hilt is near and the point is far,
The hand is balanced to the sword because the eye has
     watched the sword,
The will is prepared, without blemish;
The twittering of draughts and breezes,
The shiver of passing pedestrians,
The quiver of Richter two or three, far, antipodean,
The chaos of a butterfly beating its wings,
She ‘s got the job of Klaitemnestra on her mind.