I
Dark arm, hanging over the edge of infinity,
what have you let go of,
what are your fingers dangling emptily towards?
This is the moment of continued momentum
but will not continue forever.
The spheres will relax,
will suddenly drop out of heaven,
unless you resume your skillful manipulation.
Sleeping Negro, wake up,
bestir your dark copper limbs,
the rhythm is broken, there is danger in heaven!
II
Dark arm, hanging over the edge of infinity,
sleeping athlete,
fingers relaxed, grasping nothing,
what have you let go of?
Something must have become
of the luminous white plaything
that the fingers were made
for curving firmly around.
drinker of the warm white milk of space,
prostrated Negro juggler,
skillful manipulator of a million glittering spheres,
Wake up, wake up!
Suspense is ended —
Heaven is full of the sound of shattering glass!