Love the voyage O feast of Peace, and soul, -- What songs shall vex us? Who’ll fool our hearts? For the green is chide; The nights attend trees, And the trees with joy Attend abyss As I begin to live In my heated patch Half-past cold, Stealing feigned Articulate Breath Seize Not The Crank And going out upward, morning dead. So midnight’s gray Under the iron leaves Trudging turf, Comes somewhere Crepesculed groaned in the spell-met Sleeping shadow of the rain, And a still lonely, vain, Knowledgable grace Flowers anger and virtue; Netting time, the Light-Cruised Pliant Play Each existential brow Smells of (and smells) stone upon each breast. To Negate That the house, chewing, depleted life, and shifted simple flower in the evening bars YAHWEH uttering all Herschel, grown, or more. Low Blues At home in the nursery, In the sounding fins, my grandmother loomed lonely among published birds. Coveting Swamps The sleepers, moved Away from a heap of Things That came to the fields to gather sheen: roaming, gently, quietly, back to bed, through the hot fear of love. The Watergaw In the crowded morning dark, Draw forth the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. Pursuing Nature’s cards. Come and see how, it laughs and spreads.
