I SANG to you and the moon But only the moon remembers. I sang O reckless free-hearted free-throated rythms,

THE BABY moon, a canoe, a silve… A ring of silver foxes, a mist of… One yellow star for a runner, and… O foxes, baby moon, runners, you a… Who squats, legs crossed and arms…

When country fiddlers held a conve… Danville, the big money went to a… artist who played Turkey in the S… variations. They asked him the name of the pie…

I SPOT the hills With yellow balls in autumn. I light the prairie cornfields Orange and tawny gold clusters And I am called pumpkins.

SMASH down the cities. Knock the walls to pieces. Break the factories and cathedrals… and homes Into loose piles of stone and lumb…

Chatter of birds two by two raises… showing the russet of old stones r… And the long willows drowse on the… joined songs of day-end, feathery… It is too much for the long willow…

COUNT these reminiscences like m… The Greeks had their picnics unde… The Romans wore glad rags and tol… The Carlovingians hauling logs on… Stuck their noses in the air and s…

OVER the dead line we have calle… To come across with a word to us, Some beaten whisper of what happen… Where you are over the dead line Deaf to our calls and voiceless.

YOUR eyes and the valley are mem… Your eyes fire and the valley a bo… It was here a moonrise crept over… It was here we turned the coffee c… And your eyes and the moon swept t…

THERE is a woman on Michigan Bo… She used to keep a houseful of gir… Now she is alone with a parrot and… The love of a soldier on furlough… The love of an emigrant workman wh…

THE TELESCOPE picks off star… on the clean steel sky and sends i… The telephone picks off my voice a… sends it cross country a thousand… The eyes in my head pick off pages…

IF the oriole calls like last yea… when the south wind sings in the o… if the leaves climb and climb on a… saying over a song learnt from the… if the crickets send up the same o…

I WANDER down on Clinton stree… And listen to the voices of Itali… It is a cataract of coloratura And I could sleep to their musica…

It’s a jazz affair, drum crashes a… The trombone pony neighs and the t… The banjo tickles and titters too… The chippies talk about the funnie… The cartoonists weep in their beer…

The mare Alix breaks the world’€™s trotting record one day. I see her heels flash down the dust of an Illinois race track on a summer afternoon. I see the timekeepers put their heads to...