The Coming of the Plague
September was when it began.
Locusts dying in the fields; our dogs
Silent, moving like shadows on a wall; . . .
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Concord Hymn
By the rude bridge that arched the flood,
Their flag to April’s breeze unfurled,
Here once the embattled farmers stood . . .
Confessions
What is he buzzing in my ears?
"Now that I come to die,
Do I view the world as a vale of tears?"
. . .
The Consent
Late in November, on a single night
Not even near to freezing, the ginkgo trees
That stand along the walk drop all their leaves . . .
Constancy to an Ideal Object
Since all that beat about in Nature's range,
Or veer or vanish; why should'st thou remain
The only constant in a world of change, . . .
Constantly Risking Absurdity (#15)
Constantly risking absurdity
and death
whenever he performs . . .
Contraction
Honest self-scrutiny too easily mutinies,
mutates into false memories
Which find language a receptive host, . . .
The Convergence of the Twain
I
In a solitude of the sea
Deep from human vanity, . . .
Conversation
We smile at each other
and I lean back against the wicker couch.
How does it feel to be dead? I say. . . .
Cool Tombs
When Abraham Lincoln was shoveled into the tombs, he forgot the copperheads and the assassin ... in the dust, in the cool tombs.
And Ulysses Grant lost all thought of con men and Wall Street, cash and collateral turned ashes ... in the dust, in the cool tombs.
. . .
