Old age is a flight of small cheeping birds skimming bare trees

A big young bareheaded woman in an apron Her hair slicked back standing on the street One stockinged foot toeing

And yet one arrives somehow, finds himself loosening the hooks… her dress in a strange bedroom— feels the autumn

Constantly near you, I never in m… sixty-four years knew you so well… or half so well. We talked. you we… so lucid, so disengaged from all e… of place and time. We talked of ou…

Summer! the painting is organized about a young reaper enjoying his noonday rest

Vast and grey, the sky is a simulacrum to all but him whose days are vast and grey and— In the tall, dried grasses

Here it is spring again and I still a young man! I am late at my singing. The sparrow with the black rain on… has been at his cadenzas for two w…

This quiet morning light reflected, how many times from grass and tress and clouds enters my north room touching the walls with

I stopped the car to let the children down where the streets end in the sun at the marsh edge

Fools have big wombs. For the rest?—here is pennyroyal if one knows to use it. But time is only another liar, so go along the wall a little further: if blackberries prove bitter there’l...

Take it out in vile whisky, take i… in lifting your skirts to show you… crotches; it is this that is inten… You are it. Your pleas will alway… You too will always go up with the…

This is a slight stiff dance to a waking baby whose arms have been lying curled back above his head upon the pillow, making a flower—the eyes closed. Dead to the world! Waking is a...