She cleaned house, and then lay do… On the long stair. On one of those cold white wings That the strange fowl provide for… That cautery of snow that blinds u…

The night’s drifts Pile up below me and behind my bac… Slide down the hill, rise again, a… Eerie little dunes on the roof of… In the valley below me,

Along the sprawled body of the der… I strike a match slowly and lift i… No wind. Beyond town, three heavy white hor… Wade all the way to their shoulder…

Near the dry river’s water-mark we… Your brother Minnegan, Flopped like a fish against the mu… Beany, the kid whose yellow hair t… Told me to find you, even if the r…

Relieved, I let the book fall beh… I climb a slight rise of grass. I do not want to disturb the ants Who are walking single file up the… Carrying small white petals,

All right. Try this, Then. Every body I know and care for, And every body Else is going

I am sitting contented and alone in a little park near the Palazzo Scaligere in Verona, glimpsing the mists of early autumn as they shift and fade among the pines and city battlements o...

Lured by the wall, and drawn To stare below the roof, Where pigeons nest aloof From prowling cats and men, I count the sash and bar

The whole city Is stone, even Where stone Doesn’t belong. What is that old

After dark Near the South Dakota border, The moon is out hunting, everywher… Delivering fire, And walking down hallways

Still, I would leap too Into the light, If I had the chance. It is everything, the wet green st…

I hear that the Commune di Padova… pieces from Giotto to Mantegna. G… Mantegna is the master of the dead… beings who seems to have understoo… down from the cross after all, in…

Nightfall, that saw the morning-gl… Tendril and string against the cru… Nurses him now, his skeleton for g… His locks for comfort curled among… Shuttles of moonlight weave his sh…

Strange bird, His song remains secret. He worked too hard to read books. He never heard how Sherwood Ander… Got out of it, and fled to Chicag…

The moon drops one or two feathers… The dark wheat listens. Be still. Now. There they are, the moon’s young,…