alone untouched,

your white flesh covered with salt

as with myrrh and burnt iris.

We were hemmed in this place,

so few of us, so few of us to fight

their sure lances,

the straight thrust—effortless

with slight life of muscle and shoulder.

So straight—only we were left,

the four of us—somehow shut off.

[22]

And the marsh dragged one back,

and another perished under the cliff,

and the tide swept you out.

Your feet cut steel on the paths,

I followed for the strength

of life and grasp.

I have seen beautiful feet

but never beauty welded with strength.

I marvelled at your height.

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