Not the moon. A flower on the other side of the water. The water sweeps past in flood, dragging a whole tree by the hair, a barn, a bridge. The flower

As you read, a white bear leisurel… pees, dyeing the snow saffron, and as you read, many gods lie among lianas: eyes of obsidian

Something forgotten for twenty yea… and mothers came from Cordova and… and though I am a citizen of the… stranger here than anywhere else,… I am Essex-born:

This is the year the old ones, the old great ones leave us alone on the road. The road leads to the sea. We have the words in our pockets,

As swimmers dare to lie face to the sky and water bears them, as hawks rest upon air and air sustains them,

To lie back under the tallest oldest trees. How far the stems rise, rise before ribs of shelter open!

Something is very gently, invisibly, silently, pulling at me-a thread or net of threads finer than cobweb and as

The red eyes of rabbits aren’t sad. No one passes the sad golden village in a barge any more. The sunset will leave it alone. If the

Green Snake, when I hung you roun… and stroked your cold, pulsing thr… as you hissed to me, glinting arrowy gold scales, and I felt the weight of you on my shoulders,

The clouds as I see them, rising urgently, roseate in the mounting of somber power surging in evening haste over roofs and hermetic

Brown gas-fog, white beneath the street lamps. Cut off on three sides, all space… with our bodies. Bodies that stumble

An old man whose black face shines golden-brown as wet pebbles under the streetlamp, is walking t… proportionate size, in the rain, in the relaxed early-evening avenu…

When I found the door I found the vine leaves speaking among themselves in abund… whispers. My presence made them