Twelfth Morning; Or What You Will

Lyrics
Like a first coat of whitewash when it's wet, the thin gray mist lets everything show through: the black boy Balthazár, a fence, a horse, a foundered house, —cement and rafters sticking from a dune. (The Company passes off these white but shopworn dunes as lawns.) "Shipwreck," we say; perhaps this is a housewreck. The sea's off somewhere, doing nothing. Listen. An expelled breath. And faint, faint, faint (or are you hearing things), thе sandpipers' heart-broken criеs. The fence, three-strand, barbed-wire, all pure rust, three dotted lines, comes forward hopefully across the lots; thinks better of it; turns a sort of corner… Don't ask the big white horse, Are you supposed to be inside the fence or out? He's still asleep. Even awake, he probably remains in doubt. He's bigger than the house. The force of personality, or is perspective dozing? A pewter-colored horse, an ancient mixture, tin, lead, and silver, he gleams a little. But a gallon can approaching on the head of Balthazár keeps flashing that the world's a pearl, and I, I am its highlight! You can hear the water now, inside, slap-slapping. Balthazár is singing. "Today's my Anniversary," he sings, "the Day of Kings."
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Credits
- Writers
- Elizabeth Bishop