I acknowledge my status as a stranger: Inappropriate clothes, odd habits Out of sync with wasp and wren. I admit I don’t know how To sit still or move without purpose. I prefer books to moonlight, statuary to trees.
Farmhouses curl like horns of plenty, hide scrawny bare shanks against a barn, or crouch empty in the shadow of a mountain. Here there is no house at all—
only the bones of a house, lilacs growing beside them, roses in clumps between them, honeysuckle over; a gap...
Do you have adequate oxen for the job? No, my oxen are inadequate. Well, how many oxen would it take to do an adequate job? I would need ten more oxen to do the job adequately. I'll see if I can get them for...
At that time the sheep called to him From their wormy bellies, as they Lay bloating in the field. He was A pastoralist, The schoolhouse hardly handsize In a sky of flax.
He began Then to keep the sayings of man (The left hand writing; the right...
From the forests and highlands We come, we come; From the river-girt islands, Where loud waves are dumb Listening to my sweet pipings. The wind in the reeds and the rushes, The bees on the bells of thyme, The...
and sex once a day a week a month a year goes by and one hyacinth only returns, frail blue against the militant grass that does cover all in the residential precinct of the New England town its roads long paved old Indian trails the steps they took toward us the first exchange for a...
Come down, O maid, from yonder mountain height: What pleasure lives in height (the shepherd sang) In height and cold, the splendour of the hills? But cease to move so near the Heavens, and cease To glide a sunbeam by the blasted Pine, To sit...
There lies a vale in Ida, lovelier Than all the valleys of Ionian hills. The swimming vapour slopes athwart the glen, Puts forth an arm, and creeps from pine to pine, And loiters, slowly drawn. On either hand The lawns...
What is this tint that in the shrill cress Will never cease to trouble us and in the fields Gives prick and praise for Beauty? And said birds that feed on berries Are pervious—and shook the snow from his thighs. I thought of nothing carefully,...
Everything contains some silence. Noise gets its zest from the small shark's-tooth shaped fragments of rest angled in it. An hour of city holds maybe a minute of these remnants of a time when silence reigned, compact and dangerous as a shark. Sometimes a bit of a tail or fin can still be sensed in...