There are threads of old sound hea… phrases of Shakespeare or Mozart… wands of the auroras playing out f… into dark time the passing of a fe… migrants high in the night far fro…

Why did he promise me that we would build ourselves an ark all by ourselves out in back of the house on New York Avenue

When you go away the wind clicks a… The painters work all day but at s… Showing the black walls The clock goes back to striking th… That has no place in the years

It was a late book given up for lo… again and again with its sentences bare at last and phrases that seem… revealing what had been there the… the poems of daylight after the da…

Duporte the roofer that calm voice those sure hands gentling weathere… into new generations or half of him rising through a roof like some sea spirit from a wave

The star in my Hand is falling All the uniforms know what’s no us… May I bow to Necessity not To her hirelings

The friends have gone home far up… of that river into whose estuary the man from England sailed in his… in time to catch sight of the late… furring in black the remotest edge…

Matches among other things that we… never would be lying high in a cool blue box that opened in other hands and the… bodies clean and smooth blue heads…

Now that you have caught sight of the other side of darkness the invisible side so that you can tell it is rising

It is March and black dust falls… Soon I will be gone The tall spirit who lodged here ha… Left already On the avenues the colorless threa…

Naturally it is night. Under the overturned lute with its One string I am going my way Which has a strange sound. This way the dust, that way the du…

When Hans Hofmann became a hedgeh… somewhere in a Germany that has vanished with its forests and hedg… Shakespeare would have been a youn… starting out in a country that was

Whenever I go there everything is… The stamps on the bandages the tit… Of the professors of water The portrait of Glare the reasons… The white mourning

Out of the dry days through the dusty leaves far across the valley those few notes never heard here before

With what stillness at last you appear in the valley your first sunlight reaching down to touch the tips of a few high leaves that do not stir