Collected Poems

A PRAYER TO ESCAPE FROM THE MARKET PLACE

Dead riches, dead hands, the moon Darkens, And I am lost in the beautiful white ruins Of America. AMERICAN WEDDING She dreamed long of waters. Inland today, she wakens On scraped knees, lost Among locust thorns. She gropes for The path backward, to The pillows of the sea. Bruised trillium Of wilderness, she May rest on briar leaves, As long as the wind cares to pause. Now she is going to learn How it is that animals Can save time: They sleep a whole season Of lamentation and snow, Without bothering to weep. A PRAYER TO ESCAPE FROM THE MARKET PLACE I renounce the blindness of the magazines. I want to lie down under a tree. This is the only duty that is not death. This is the everlasting happiness Of small winds. Suddenly, A pheasant flutters, and I turn 132 Only to sec him vanishing at the damp edge Of the road. RAIN It is the sinking of things. Flashlights drift over dark trees, Girls kneel, An owl's eyelids fall. The sad bones of my hands descend into a valley Of strange rocks. TODAY I WAS HAPPY, SO I MADE THIS POEM As the plump squirrel scampers Across the roof of the corncrib, The moon suddenly stands up in the darkness, And I see that it is impossible to die. Each moment of time is a mountain. An eagle rejoices in the oak trees of heaven, Crying This is what I wanted. MARY ELY I sit here, doing nothing, alone, worn out by long winter. I feel the light breath of the newborn child. Her face is smooth as the side of an apricot, Eyes quick as her blond mother's hands. She has full, soft, red hair, and as she lies quiet In her tall mother's arms, her delicate hands Weave back and forth. I feel the seasons changing beneath me, Under the floor. She is braiding the waters of air into the plaited manes THE BRANCH WILL NOT BREAK 133 ...