How does your garden grow, your garden
In the shallow dish, in the dark, how does it grow?
To-morrow we bear the milk corn to the river,
To-morrow we go to the spring with the pale stalks:
Has your garden ripened?
She used to water them
Morning and evening and the blades grew
Yellow a sort of whitey yellowy all
Fluffy
hairs from a dead skull
they say
The skulls of dead girls—
Won’t it let you die
Even, burgeoning from your bones, your dead
Bones, from your body, not even die, not just
Be dead, be quiet?
What is this thing that sprouts
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