"The Satyr," Frank O'Hara

The trees toss and plunge in a skyblue surf!
an automobile comes whizzing, falls by
as the floor of the lake against my thigh
flings and leaves like a kiss or scarf

The bend of the shore where my armpits laugh
runs after the cars that drop from my eye
I'll recapture them all before I die
without losing my limbs in the thick turf

Without fearing the bluejays and pine cones
that rob the sun and torment my cold face
I'll become the Lover of the quick world

For those trees waves and thieves I'm eager! whirled
and drowned in maelstroms of rhododendrons!
full flowers! round eyes! rush upward! rapture! space!