Wider Still and Wider from the Earth
“And in that Heaven of all their wish, there shall be no more land, say fish.”
The fancies of that young one, Rupert Brooke,
Were wider than “just” girls and women. He
Liked those—and more. The autumn hair that shook
Him was the head of Charles Lascelles. Its plea
Lodged sharply in the poet’s heart, twanging
Like arrows when they first embed their points
In targets on the field. The waves hanging
Along that forehead struck him. Shoulder joints
Became obsessions whether he could spy
Their armpit hair or not. Their upper arms
Were potions like Isolde’s. Then when an eye
Met his, he felt its glories and its harms.
Those gorgeous harms went ricocheting through
His ribcage, whether they were brown or blue.
~ Phillip Whidden