There is a bird that hangs head-do… Between the mango leaves and passi… Below, a spotted serpent twines And blunts its head against the ye… Along the warping ground a turtle…

The tree we lay under The thunder, the thunder Of my heart, and your wonder… And our weeping... Now we are old, we are worn, we ar…

What husks of last year’s winter c… To-morrow’s world–what dead, what… Of ancient parchments, laws, belie… Worn, tattered layers keep the lif… Where slender as a sword, and tend…

Now in the fright of change when b… In fountains of debris We say to the stranger coming acro… Not here, not here, go elsewhere! Here we keep

Fearful of beauty, I always went Timidly indifferent: Dainty, hesitant, taking in Just what was tiniest and thin; Careful not to care

Your face from my face slips, Lover of my lips. Holder of my heart, For all our close companionships, We are apart.

Forever lost–like birds forever fl… Searching bleak space, Circling, and with the south wind… Across earth’s face: Arrowed I fly, and like them lost…

Only to tell your loveliness–this… Only to tell Pain’s odor, beauty-burning miracl… Of my surrender! Late I flew...

How tender-mad the little meadows… The wobbling lambs are tasting mil… The tipsy trees Are leaned like foam on green, win… The pale moth flutters where the p…

Gnats and an ant have gnawed your… You who could spring and sprawl on… Down half the meadow. Under tiny… The ant has stored your essence.… You stitched the air with level da…

Sap stirs near me, roots stretch a… Sundering stones. And rivers waken, start in monoton… Their later tunes. Oaks bend their knotted knees

Swing, swing, and swoon, Morning, evening, noon, And with night, sleep. If you must, weep– But here, here with me.

Up that thin river, going over san… Down that deep river, purple to th… My fingers fire; cool your quiet h… And your voice sad, and mine the a… So, silver-thin, the flute-like ru…

Withhold your breath! Heavy in noon, and sleepy as slow… Garden of sweets and sours, The cluster of my body hangs Odorous with flowers:

Other hearts have broken gracefull… And now your eyes reproach me that… Is awkward, and my arms Are angular across my breast Where emptiness is pressed.