SAND of the sea runs red Where the sunset reaches and quive… Sand of the sea runs yellow Where the moon slants and wavers.

THE WIND stops, the wind begins… The wind says stop, begin. A sea shovel scrapes the sand floo… The shovel changes, the floor chan… The sandpipers, maybe they know.

RED gold of pools, Sunset furrows six o’clock, And the farmer done in the fields And the cows in the barns with bul… Take the cows and the farmer,

I SAW Man, the man-hunter, Hunting with a torch in one hand And a kerosene can in the other, Hunting with guns, ropes, shackles… I listened

SLEEP is a maker of makers. Birds sleep. Feet cling to a perch. Look at the balance. Let the legs loosen, the backbone untwist, the head go heavy over, the whole works tumbles a done bi...

JOY... weaving two violet petals for a coat lapel... painting on a slab of night sky a Christ face... slipping new brass keys into rusty iron locks and shouldering till at last the door...

THE PEACE of great doors be fo… Wait at the knobs, at the panel ob… Wait for the great hinges. The peace of great churches be for… Where the players of loft pipe org…

OPEN the door now. Go roll up the collar of your coat To walk in the changing scarf of m… Tell your sins here to the pearl f… And know for once a deepening nigh…

YOUR bow swept over a string, an… quivered to the air. (A mother of Bohemia sobs over a… learning to suck milk.) Your bow ran fast over all the hig…

THE HORSE’S name was Remorse. There were people said, ‘Gee, wha… And they were Edgar Allan Poe bu… They called him Remorse. When he was a gelding

I painted on the roof of a skyscra… I painted a long while and called… The people on the corner swarmed a… They were the same as bugs, many b… These people on the go or at a sta…

THE FLUTTER of blue pigeon’s… Under a river bridge Hunting a clean dry arch, A corner for a sleep– This flutters here in a woman’s ha…

The sea-wash never ends. The sea-wash repeats, repeats. Only old songs? Is that all the s… Only the old strong songs? Is that all?

ALL day long in fog and wind, The waves have flung their beating… Against the palisades of adamant. My boy, he went to sea, long and l… Curls of brown were slipping under…