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couds of the west---sunthere half an hour high---i see youalso face to face |
around a log or snag \ the surface currents run like \ lumber about a knot |
i think of sewing him \ a pole-bag, with cobra skin \ and vegetable powder |
between us and them \ stands the great wound, swallowing \ all tears, all voices |
the horizon's flashing \ fastens tight, sealing the blue \ hills with vermilion |
in the spring of the \ year the wind brought the news of \ a woman's beauty |
nose tucked under tail, \ you are a warm, furred planet \ centered in my bed |
before you can learn \ the trees, you have to learn the \ language of the trees |
all along the town touched \ a river, the river the \ filth falling through it |
small glider, his veined \ wings are sheer parasols, gauzy skirts \ that admit the light |
in winter we lure \ the birds with suet, thaw lungs and \ kidneys for the cat |
i bend down, taste the \ fluted nipples, the elbows, \ the pads of the feet |
leaning back in the \ tall grass, putting my book aside, my \ toe covers the sun |
a hard wind raps at \ the door, the new year prowling \ in a black overcoat |
beyond the river, \ gray volcanic stone in rolling hills: \ the river moved alone |
these days what else to \ do but leer at any boy with \ just the right hairline |
standing in the boat \ one night i watched the lake go \ absolutely flat |
what must be voices \ bob up, then drop, like metal \ shavings in molasses |
the hills a witch's quilt \ of goldrust, flushed cinnamon, \ wine fever, hectic lemon |
i pulled the rope of \ braided hair and high above me \ a bell of leaves tolled |
few know this kind of \ dizzy glee: an empty sky, a \ pair of burning wings |
a gauze bandage wraps \ the land and is unwound, stained \ orange with sulfates |
the moon hangs up there \ like a stone shaken out of \ its proper setting |
the pavement trembles \ with light pouring upon it \ we are held in it |
the night is full of \ buggers and bastards; no moon \ or stars light the sky |
the owl, calling in \ the setting of the sun and \ the deer path, all erased |
from up the mountain, \ the sound of obsidian, \ flaking in the wind |
little urgent bells, \ the birds steal from each other's \ mouths which makes you hurt |
litter of bare logs \ in the drift--- the sea has had \ its sharp word with them |
the music of a \ crash caught in the hollow of \ a wooded hillside |
i said to the rose, \ the brief night goes in babble \ and revel and wine |
like a small poem \ on a long scroll, a lily pad \ appeared on the pond |
as quietly as \ the sound of kleenex being pulled \ from a box, i sneezed |
you do not need to \ steep turtle shells in blood to \ prognosticate clouds |
she has attained the \ permanence she dreamed of, where \ old stones lie sunning |
fine coral as the shy \ and wild tonguetip, undersea coral, \ rich as inner lip |
the blackbirds settled \ their clannish squabbles in the \ reeds, and light came up |
the brown bird stirred in \ the dead man's hair and it seemed \ that the dead man stirred |
the black leaves shined, the \ pink fruit blossomed red, ugly \ as a human heart |
shovel them under \ and let me work--- i am the \ grass; i cover all |
above the river, heat \ lightning flicks silently and the \ sound holds, coiled in air |
the distant night opens \ like a pearl fan, a skirt, a \ heart, a drop of salt |
outside, the day is \ slowly succeeded by night, \ succeeded by day |
what carols, like the \ blazon of a king, fill all \ the dawn with wonder |
for lunch i bit the \ olive meat: a yellow jacket \ stung me on the tongue |
a mongoose charges dry \ grass and fades through a fence faster \ than an afterthought |
the stone trough was still \ filled with water: she watched it \ and received its calm |
when the trout dies it \ turns its white belly to the \ mirror of the sky |
i wake to leafless \ vines and muddy fields, patches \ of standing water |
january, vermont: \ snowflakes teased the windows of the \ burlington airport bar |
my granddaughter sleeps \ on the breast of her mother \ with milk on her mouth |
when my plane tilts down, \ houses grow large, streets lose their \ clear geometry |
on the edge of the \ moor our pines dip and coast in \ breezes from somewhere else |
outside my door, the \ quiet roads lead, after a \ short walk, to open fields |
you said, this place should \ be more festive: a lightning \ bolt, a snail, a fraud |
only they who have \ been breast-fed know the beauty \ of the clavicle |
you peck at a slug \ sliming your path, seeming to \ beg your forgiveness |
my students grew hair \ and got haircuts, grew hair and \ got haircuts, and sang |
a sea gull beaks a \ crab, flights vertically and \ drops it to the rocks |
why, since the forest \ is beautiful, is it not \ a place of delight |
your dead cat loves you \ forever and will welcome \ you forever home |
every ass had an \ ass's jawbone that might itself \ drop from grin to girn |
that dusty bubble gum, \ once ubiquitous as starlings, \ is no more, my love |
ah, ah cries the crow \ arching toward the heavy sky \ over the marina |
as the pieces of the \ house ooze sap, blossoms and green \ twigs burst from the cracks |
wings and feathers on \ the crying, mysterious \ ages, peewits wheeling |
grubs are larger than \ pale yellow larvae i prize \ from inside chestnuts |
the rifle's blue-black \ barrel shone in the corner \ against the white, white wall |
yours is the name the \ leaves chatter at the edge of \ the unrabbited woods |
the last full moon of \ february stalks the fields; barbed \ wire casts a shadow |
i like the shape of \ the pouring soy milk, the sound \ of the splitting log |
among the wild rice in \ the still lagoon, in monotone \ the lizard shrills his tune |
nights, a tin roof wind \ cracked flat; my sister, flushed with \ child, hushing a child |
i am hungry and \ cold, and last night i dreamed a \ scarecrow had caught m |
how like a field is \ the whole sky now that the maples \ have shed their leaves, too |
which of you knows how \ to part the pebble on the \ beach from its colors |
forsythia and lilac \ have overgrown the porch, there is \ the rich smell of wood-rot |
the waiting cattle \ stir and low as daylight breaks \ in on the darkness |
his dear one, his wife, \ is young and pretty; her shawl \ is rose, pink, and white |
his family dropped \ away like cicada husks swept \ off tree trunks by rain |
a drunken moon ogling \ a sycamore, running long fingers \ down its shining flank |
your back, a blue-black \ silhouette, feet wet with the \ wash of morning waves |
under lilacs unleaved \ lie a clump of snowdrops and \ one purple crocus |
the moon was new in \ the budding bird cherry and \ venus startling overhead |
here are your cicadas, \ then a chickadee, the bulb's dry \ tear in your lemon tea |
it was too early \ for the lark, but the starry \ dark had tints of gold |
one remembers rain \ even in its absence and an \ attendant quiet |
the anxious pianist \ eats the edges of a fig stuffed \ with devonshire cream |
the pole bean tendrils \ sought their frames within six hours \ of my setting them |
the dying leaves are \ sizzling on the trees in a \ shirtsleeves summer breeze |
you are the love song \ played on a reedless flute that \ only spirits hear |
was there not a line \ of turnips where the seed ran out \ in the potato field |
cows grazed the catchwork \ meadows on the terraces, or \ at the watersides |
dawnlight, everything \ dripping wet, and the chairs stare \ at each other, alone |
in the distance the \ litter-bearers are leaning \ for the litter-poles |
from out the hedge the \ wind lets fall a few last flakes, \ ragged and delicate |
the new wire of the \ telephone, dozing in a coil, \ waits for the first call |
a vision comes to \ an ordinary man staring \ at a filthy river |
what can be compared \ to light in which leaves darken \ after rain, fierce green |
in the dark the eyes \ of startled creatures gleam like \ a herd of candles |
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