Beaver people are trying to figure out the good water.All winter they feel a dark deep toucharound their house. “Somewhere,” one says, “there isthe good water.” But another one, drowsing with a pawover the edge of the bunk, just says,“But [...]
I like it with nothing. Is it
what I was? What I will be?
I look out there by the hour,
so clear, so sure. I could
smile, or frown—still nothing.
Be my father, be my mother,
great sleep of blue; reach
far within me; open doors,
find whatever is hid [...]
In the mornings I lie partly propped up
the way Thomas Jefferson did when he slept
at Monticello. Then I stop and
Look away like Emily Dickinson when
she was thinking about the carriage and the fly.
When someone disturbs me I come back
like Pascal f [...]
THE people around me,
they meet me. Often they will talk, and
listen. They give regard, and I
to them. A few can't respond. Their faces
are dead. When these people meet me
and fail, I am sorry for them. For them
it is already the end of the world [...]
Those days, having the morning clouds, and with no one
around, it was quiet on the lookout.
For breakfast I ate animal crackers
and milk in a blue bowl marked
"World's Fair, 1939." Some of the figures
looked like my mother. I saved those till last. [...]
"The soul was clean Thou gavest me."
SCENES OF RAIN IN THE MOUNTAINS
First, they show a lake, from right down
by the water looking across, all gray,
dark, with waves and millions of raindrops.
Then they turn. The person to save you
is there, crowded [...]
By the rules you stop in that pose
fixed when the signal came. You watch
their faces. Your hand flung out
almost touches Anita's hand.
If it's ever over and they don't move,
the sun floats away, the moon
sets in the tired branches of the elm.
Down th [...]