Blizzard

Snow falls :
years of anger following
hours that float idly down !M
the blizzard
drifts its weight
deeper and deeper for three days
or sixty years, eh ? Then
the sun : a clutter of
yellow and blue flakes !M
Hairy looking trees stand out
in long alleys
over a wild solitude .
The man turns and there !M
his solitary track stretched out
upon the world .

4

BOND

Willow Poem

It is a willow when summer is over,
a willow by the river
from which no leaf has fallen nor
bitten by the sun
turned orange or crimson.
The leaves cling and grow paler,
swing and grow paler
over the swirling waters of the river
as if loth to let go,
they are so cool, so drunk with
the swirl of the wind and of the river
oblivious to winter,
the last to let go and fall
into the water and on the ground.

Portrait of a Lady

By William Carlos Williams

Your thighs are appletrees
whose blossoms touch the sky .
Which sky ? The sky
where Watteau hung a lady's
slipper . Your knees
are a southern breeze - or
a gust of snow . Agh ! what
sort of man was Fragonard ?
- As if that answered
anything . - Ah yes . Below
the knees, since the tune
drops that way, it is
one of those white summer days ,
the tall grass of your ankles
flickers upon the shore -
Which shore ? -
the sand clings to my lips -
Which shore ?
Agh, petals maybe . How
should I know ?
Which shore ? Which shore ?
- the petals from some hidden
appletree - Which shore ?
I said petals from an appletree .

1919