In My Craft or Sullen Art
In my craft or sullen art
Exercised in the still night
When only the moon rages . . .
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In the Past
There lies a somnolent lake
Under a noiseless sky,
Where never the mornings break . . .
In Praise of My Bed
At last I can be with you!
The grinding hours
since I left your side! . . .
In Praise of Pain
A brilliance takes up residence in flaws—
a brilliance all the unchipped faces of design
refuse. The wine collects its starlets . . .
In School-days
Still sits the school-house by the road,
A ragged beggar sleeping;
Around it still the sumachs grow, . . .
Incident
Once riding in old Baltimore,
Heart-filled, head-filled with glee,
I saw a Baltimorean . . .
Infelix
Where is the promise of my years;
Once written on my brow?
Ere errors, agonies and fears . . .
Inside Out
I walk the purple carpet into your eye
carrying the silver butter server
but a truck rumbles by, . . .
Insomnia
Thin are the night-skirts left behind
By daybreak hours that onward creep,
And thin, alas! the shred of sleep
. . .
Insomnia
Now you hear what the house has to say.
Pipes clanking, water running in the dark,
the mortgaged walls shifting in discomfort, . . .
