A three-day-long rain from the eas… an terminable talking, talking of no consequence—patter, patter,… Hand in hand little winds blow the thin streams aslant.

To make two bold statements: There’s nothing sentimental about a machine, and: A poem is a small (or large) machine made out of words. When I say there’s nothing sentimental about a poe...

Flowers through the window lavender and yellow changed by white curtains— Smell of cleanliness— Sunshine of late afternoon—

The sky has given over its bitterness. Out of the dark change all day long rain falls and falls

The little sparrows hop ingenuously about the pavement quarreling with sharp voices

A rumpled sheet Of brown paper About the length And apparent bulk Of a man was

NOW that I have cooled to you Let there be gold of tarnished mas… Temples soothed by the sun to ruin That sleep utterly. Give me hand for the dances,

First he said: It is the woman in us That makes us write– Let us acknowledge it– Men would be silent.

I have discovered that most of the beauties of travel are due to the strange hours we keep to see t… the domes of the Church of the Paulist Fathers in Weehawken

Pour the wine bridegroom where before you the bride is enthroned her hair loose at her temples a head of ripe wheat is on

As the cat climbed over the top of the jamcloset first the right

Of asphodel, that greeny flower, like a buttercup upon its branching stem– save that it’s green and wooden– I come, my sweet,