Sometimes, I, too, tell the ah's br of my heart one by one br like the blood-red beads br of a ruby rosary strung br on strands of golden hair! br br But my br poetry's muse br takes to the air br on wings made of steel br like the I-beams br of my suspension bridges! br br I don't pretend br the nightingale's lament br to the rose isn't easy on the ears... br But the language br that really speaks to me br are Beethoven sonatas played br on copper, iron, wood, bone, and catgut... br br You can "have" br galloping off br in a cloud of dust! br Me, I wouldn't trade br for the purest-bred br Arabian steed br the sixth mph br of my iron horse br running on iron tracks! br br Sometimes my eye is caught like a big dumb fly br by the masterly spider webs in the corners of my room. br But I really look up br to the seventy-seven-story, reinforced-concrete mountains br my blue-shirted builders create! br br Were I to meet br the male beauty br "young Adonis, god of Byblos," br on a bridge, I'd probably never notice; br but I can't help staring into my philosopher's glassy eyes br or my fireman's square face br red as a sweating sun! br br Though I can smoke br third-class cigarettes filled br on my electric workbenches, br I can't roll tobacco - even the finest- br in paper by hand and smoke it! br I didn't -- br "wouldn't" -- trade br my wife dressed in her leather cap and jacket br for Eve's nakedness! br Maybe I don't have a "poetic soul"? br What can I do br when I love my own children br more br than mother Nature's! br br br Trans.