the back wings of the hospital where nothing will grow lie

Again I reply to the triple winds running chromatic fifths of derisi… outside my window: Play louder. You will not succeed. I am

The dayseye hugging the earth in August, ha! Spring is gone down in purple, weeds stand high in the corn, the rainbeaten furrow

School is over. It is too hot to walk at ease. At ease in light frocks they walk the stre… to while the time away. They have grown tall. They hold

Each time it rings I think it is for me but it is not for me nor for anyone it merely

A power-house in the shape of a red brick chair 90 feet high on the seat of which

The murderer’s little daughter who is barely ten years old jerks her shoulders right and left so as to catch a glimpse of me

It is cold. The white moon is up among her scattered stars— like the bare thighs of the Police Sergeant’s wife—among her five children . . .

I lie here thinking of you:—— the stain of love is upon the world! Yellow, yellow, yellow it eats into the leaves,

Yellow, yellow, yellow, yellow! It is not a color. It is summer! It is the wind on a willow, the lap of waves, the shadow

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

This is a schoolyard crowded with children of all ages near a village on a small stream