In the evening
all the hours that weren't used
are emptied out
and the beggars are waiting to gather them up
...
When you go away the wind clicks around to the north
The painters work all day but at sundown the paint falls
Showing the black walls
The clock goes back to striking the same hour
...
My friend says I was not a good son
you understand
I say yes I understand
...
There in the fringe of trees between
the upper field and the edge of the one
below it that runs above the valley
one time I heard in the early
...
By this part of the century few are left who believe
in the animals for they are not there in the carved parts
of them served on plates and the pleas from the slatted trucks
are sounds of shadows that possess no future
...
What is the head
A. Ash
What are the eyes
A. The wells have fallen in and have
...
When I was beginning to read I imagined
that bridges had something to do with birds
and with what seemed to be cages but I knew
that they were not cages it must have been autumn
...
At the last minute a word is waiting
not heard that way before and not to be
repeated or ever be remembered
one that always had been a household word
...
Your absence has gone through me
Like thread through a needle.
Everything I do is stitched with its color.
...
Out of the dry days
through the dusty leaves
far across the valley
those few notes never
...