#Americans
Against the stone breakwater, Only an ominous lapping, While the wind whines overhead, Coming down from the mountain, Whistling between the arbors, the…
Now as the train bears west, Its rhythm rocks the earth, And from my Pullman berth I stare into the night While others take their rest.
I have known the inexorable sadnes… Neat in their boxes, dolor of pad… All the misery of manila folders a… Desolation in immaculate public pl… Lonely reception room, lavatory, s…
What’s this? A dish for fat lips. Who says? A nameless stranger. Is he a bird or a tree? Not every… Water recedes to the crying of spi… An old scow bumps over black rocks…
In a dark time, the eye begins to… I meet my shadow in the deepening… I hear my echo in the echoing wood… A lord of nature weeping to a tree… I live between the heron and the w…
In purest song one plays the const… As changes shimmer in the inner ey… I stare and stare into a deepening… And tell myself my image cannot di… I love myself: that’s my one const…
In moving-slow he has no Peer. You ask him something in his Ear, He thinks about it for a Year; And, then, before he says a Word There, upside down (unlike a Bird…
The wind billowing out the seat of… My feet crackling splinters of gla… The half-grown chrysanthemums star… Up through the streaked glass, fla… A few white clouds all rushing eas…
One feather is a bird, I claim; one tree, a wood; In her low voice I heard More than a mortal should; And so I stood apart,
I strolled across An open field; The sun was out; Heat was happy. This way! This way!
A shell arched under my toes, Stirred up by a whirl of silt That rifted around my knees. Whatever I owed to time slowed in… Sea water stood in my veins,
What’s greater, Pebble or Pond? What can be known? The Unknown. My true self runs toward a Hill More! O More! visible. Now I adore my life
By day the bat is cousin to the mo… He likes the attic of an aging hou… His fingers make a hat about his h… His pulse beat is so slow we think… He loops in crazy figures half the…
I think the dead are tender. Shal… My lady laughs, delighting in what… If she but sighs, a bird puts out… She makes space lonely with a love… She lilts a low soft language, and…
Where were the greenhouses going, Lunging into the lashing Wind driving water So far down the river All the faucets stopped?—