She was caught, she was trapped.--I am miserable. Let me only not move.--Since to move was to break against walls of a trap. Here in the heart of movelessness a little space. Let her not stir where the walls and the roof of the black small trap will smite her! IV The room moves up the dimension of time. Hour and hour and hour. Bearing its freight toward sleep. Thick hot room, torn by the burr of two lights, choked by the strain of two bound souls, moving along the night. Writhing in dream. Singing.-- --My flesh sings for silk and rich jewels; My flesh cries for the mouth of a king. My hair, why is it not a canopy of love, Why does it not cover sweet secrets of love? My hair cries to be laid upon white linen. I have brought misery into the world.-- I have lived with a small man and my dreams have shrunk him, Who in my dreams enlarged the glory of princes. He looks upon me with soft eyes, and my flesh is hard against them. He beats upon me with warm heart, and my breasts do not rise up for him. They are soft and forgetful of his beating heart. My breasts dream far when he is near to them-- They droop, they die. His hands are a tearful prayer upon my body-- I sit: there is no way between my man and my dream, There is no way between my life and life, There is no way between my love and my child. I lie: and my eyes are shut. I sleep: and they open. A world of mountains Plunges against my sleep.-- --Lord, Lord: this is my daughter before me, her cheeks that have not bloomed are wilting. Preserve her, Lord. This is my wife before me, her love that has not lived is dead.--Time is a barren field that has no end. I see no horizon. My feet walk endlessly, I see no horizon.--I am faithful, Lord.-- * * * * * The tailor-shop is black. It has moved up three hours into midnight. It is black. Esther and Meyer walk the grey street. In the arms of the man sleeps Flora. His arm aches. He dares not change her to his other arm. Lest she wake. He has undressed her. Gentle hands of a man. He holds her little body, naked, near his eyes. Her face and her hands, her feet and her knees are soiled. The rest of her body is white--very white--no bloom upon her body. He kisses her black hair. He lays her away beneath her coverlet. There is his wife before him. She is straight. Her naked body rises, column of white flame, from her dun skirt. Esther--his love--she is in a case of fire. Within her breasts as within hard jewels move the liquids of love. Within her body, as within a case, lies her soul, pent, which should pour forth its warmth upon them. He embraces her. "Esther.--Esther--" He can say no more. His lips are at her throat. Can he not break her open? She sways back, yielding. Her eyes swerve up. They catch the cradle of her child. --Another child--another agony of glory--another misery to the world?