1. Behind the apartments The young gulls skreek and squeal Over the old dump Ripe with peelings, mangled cans. They think, If I flew to the moon, Enlivening its dusts with my wings As they flash, I could not be more satisfied than now. In this, the young gulls Preening high over the glittering dump Are not deceived. 2. In his room He nailed up a poster of the moon From an old bijou. And round shone that moon Upon his wall. His lap glowed slowly obscured With drift, with stardust.