Invading nightmare, spinning up through sleep,
three loving Negresses ascend the night;
one sinks with Chinese eyes a despised man
shivering white in fear; mocking says, “take him,
I made him vastly unhappy;” dances, lifting
the purple belly pencilled delicate black.
The grandmother rises on the pointed shoulder
of the little black boy in the pink wool sweater,
bitterly asking about the deputies.
Burning, as dead skies over enemy cities
tip backward sliding, a third gleams on the South;
battlefields flicker, the scenery of doubt
dissolves in decoration on the night of
fire, black women, nightmare, dances, sleep.