Dive into the archives.
- ten round
persons of an imaginary tale
lately seen in the flesh
recognized between the elm-tree and the stream
with a gleam of yesterday gone away
no more narrative
not even truth inwardly
say more if wished to say more
it was enough bridge-water and image
a white rippling blur
- propagations
destroyed domestic birds yesterday
while meantime ponders its options
- the woman at the well
the willow whispered its secrets to the rose bush
“it is not that i do not wish to be pure
i like the sky, but i have eaten dirt all
of my life; what will Heaven have of me?”
- to a young lady
dip a japanese brush
in blue India ink
from behind your back
you have written you history
