#AmericanWriters
My shoes as I lean unlacing them stand out upon flat worsted flowers under my feet.
I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox and which
A middle-northern March, now as a… gusts from the South broken agains… but from under, as if a slow hand… it moves—not into April—into a sec… the old skin of wind-clear scales…
A power-house in the shape of a red brick chair 90 feet high on the seat of which
A three-day-long rain from the eas… an terminable talking, talking of no consequence—patter, patter,… Hand in hand little winds blow the thin streams aslant.
Lady of dusk-wood fastnesses, Thou art my Lady. I have known the crisp, splinterin… White, slender through green sapli… I have lain by thee on the brown f…
There were some dirty plates and a glass of milk beside her on a small table near the rank, disheveled bed— Wrinkled and nearly blind
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...
Rather notice, mon cher, that the moon is titled above the point of the steeple than that its color
Summer! the painting is organized about a young reaper enjoying his noonday rest
While she sits there with tears on her cheek her cheek on
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…
I bought a dish mop— having no daughter— for they had twisted fine ribbons of shining copper about white twine
The dayseye hugging the earth in August, ha! Spring is gone down in purple, weeds stand high in the corn, the rainbeaten furrow
A big young bareheaded woman in an apron Her hair slicked back standing on the street One stockinged foot toeing