The brutal Lord of All will rip us from each other—leave the one to suffer here alone. No need belief in god or hell to postulate that much. The dance: hands touching, leaves touch...

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

According to Brueghel when Icarus fell it was spring a farmer was ploughing his field

the back wings of the hospital where nothing will grow lie

I must tell you this young tree whose round and firm trunk between the wet pavement and the gutter

beauty is a shell from the sea where she rules triumphant till love has had its way with her scallops and

You say love is this, love is that… Poplar tassels, willow tendrils the wind and the rain comb, tinkle and drip, tinkle and drip— branches drifting apart. Hagh!

Light hearted William twirled his November moustaches and, half dressed, looked from the bedroom window upon the spring weather.

Tho’ I’m no Catholic I listen hard when the bells in the yellow—brick tower of their new church ring down the leaves

When the snow falls the flakes spi… that concerns them most intimately two and two to make a dance the mind dances with itself, taking you by the hand,

I gotta buy me a new girdle. (I’ll buy you one) O.K.

Little round moon up there—wait awhile—do not walk so quickly. I could sing you a song—: Wine clear the sky is and the stars no bigger than sparks! Wait for me and next winter we’ll bui...

Let the snake wait under his weed and the writing be of words, slow and quick, sharp to strike, quiet to wait,