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| Isn't it time to let things be:. |
| I don't pick up the drafts-book,. |
| I ease out of the typewriter room:. |
| |
| bumblebees' wings swirl. |
| free of the fine-spun of words:. |
| the brook blinks. |
| |
| a leaf down-bed, shadow mingling,. |
| tumbling with the leaf,. |
| with no help from me: do things let alone. |
| |
| go to pieces: is rescue written. |
| already into the motions of coherence:. |
| have words all along. |
| |
| imitated work better done undone:. |
| one thinks not ruthlessly to bestir again:. |
| one cases off harsh attentions. |
| |
| to watch the dew dry, the squirrel stand. |
| (white belly prairie-dog erect). |
| the mayfly cling daylong to the doorscreen. |
