#AmericanWriters
Summer! the painting is organized about a young reaper enjoying his noonday rest
It is still warm enough to slip from the weeds into the lake’s edge, your clothes blushing in the grass and three small boys grinning behind the derelict hearth’s side. But summer...
WHERE shall I find you— You, my grotesque fellows That I seek everywhere To make up my band? None, not one
Ecstatic bird songs pound the hollow vastness of the sky with metallic clinkings— beating color up into it at a far edge,—beating it, beating…
The sky has given over its bitterness. Out of the dark change all day long rain falls and falls
Tracks of rain and light linger in the spongy greens of a nature whos… flickering mountain—bulging nearer… ebbing back into the sun hollowing itself away to hold a la…
I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox and which
Old age is a flight of small cheeping birds skimming bare trees
munching a plum on the street a paper bag of them in her hand They taste good to her They taste good
Pour the wine bridegroom where before you the bride is enthroned her hair loose at her temples a head of ripe wheat is on
The half-stripped trees struck by a wind together, bending all, the leaves flutter drily and refuse to let go
If you had come away with me into another state we had been quiet together. But there the sun coming up out of the nothing beyond the lake…
Sooner or later we must come to the end of striving to re-establish the image the image of
By the road to the contagious hosp… under the surge of the blue mottled clouds driven from the northeast—a cold wind. Beyond, th… waste of broad, muddy fields
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,