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— 17 —
in his head
the harvest already planted.
A cold wind ruffles the water
among the browned weeds.
On all sides
the world rolls coldly away :
black orchards
darkened by the March clouds —
leaving room for thought.
Down past the brushwood
bristling by
the rainsluiced wagonroad
looms the artist figure of
the farmer — composing
— antagonist
IV
The Easter stars are shining
above lights that are flashing —
coronal of the black —
Nobody
to say it —
Nobody to say : pinholes
Thither I would carry her
among the lights —
Burst it asunder
