#Americans
Child of the Aztec gods, how long must we listen here, how long before we go? The dust is deep on the lintels. The dust is dark on the doors.
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…
SNOW took us away from the smoke… Snow changes our bones into fog st… Six bits for a sniff of snow in th… Our bones cry and cry, no let-up,… More, more-a yen is on, a long yen…
COOL your heels on the rail of a… Let the engineer open her up for n… Take in the prairie right and left… A gray village flecks by and the h… A barnyard and fifteen Holstein c…
(Chirstmas Day, 1917)THE FIV… The red dust of a rusty crimson is… The timberline turns in a cover of… ‘Jesus in an Illinois barn early…
This town belongs to the Dead, to the Dead and to the Wilderness. Back of the clamps on a fireproof door they hold the papers of the Dead in a house here And when two living men fall ou...
HOW much do you love me, a millio… Oh, a lot more than that, Oh, a l… And to-morrow maybe only half a bu… To-morrow maybe not even a half a… And is this your heart arithmetic?
YOUR bow swept over a string, an… quivered to the air. (A mother of Bohemia sobs over a… learning to suck milk.) Your bow ran fast over all the hig…
There was a woman tore off a red v… And slashed the white skin of her… And a crimson zigzag wrote a finge… There was a woman spoke six short… And quit a life that was old to he…
The woman named Tomorrow sits with a hairpin in her teeth and takes her time and does her hair the way she want… and fastens at last the last braid…
There was a high majestic fooling Day before yesterday in the yellow… And day after to-morrow in the yel… There will be high majestic foolin… The ears ripen in late summer
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…
A MAN saw the whole world as a g… cross-bones. The rose flesh of lif… faces. Nothing counts. Everything… dust and ashes to ashes and then a… useless silence. So he saw it all.…
There are no handles upon a langua… Whereby men take hold of it And mark it with signs for its rem… It is a river, this language, Once in a thousand years
AM I the river your white birds f… Are you the green valley my silver… The two of us a bowl of blue sky d… Who picked you out of the first great whirl of no…