You said you would kill it this mo… Do not kill it. It startles me st… The jut of that odd, dark head, pa… Through the uncut grass on the elm… It is something to own a pheasant,

The figs on the fig tree in the ya… Green, also, the grapes on the gre… Shading the brickred porch tiles. The money’s run out. How nature, sensing this, compound…

An old beast ended in this place: A monster of wood and rusty teeth. Fire smelted his eyes to lumps Of pale blue vitreous stuff, opaqu… As resin drops oozed from pine bar…

Black lake, black boat, two black,… Where do the black trees go that d… Their shadows must cover Canada. A little light is filtering from t… Their leaves do not wish us to hur…

Revolving in oval loops of solar s… Couched in cauls of clay as in hol… Dead men render love and war no he… Lulled in the ample womb of the fu… No spiritual Caesars are these de…

Open-mouthed, the baby god Immense, bald, though baby-headed, Cried out for the mother’s dug. The dry volcanoes cracked and spli… Sand abraded the milkless lip.

They are the last romantics, these… Upside—down hearts of light tippin… And the fingers, taken in by their… Grown milky, almost clear, like th… It is touching, the way they’ll ig…

Old man, you surface seldom. Then you come in with the tide’s coming When seas wash cold, foam— Capped: white hair, white beard,

the slime of all my yesterdays rots in the hollow of my skull and if my stomach would contract because of some explicable phenome… such as pregnancy or constipation

The Sunday lamb cracks in its fat… The fat Sacrifices its opacity. . . . A window, holy gold. The fire makes it precious,