Myriads of counter processions crossing and recrossing, regaining the advantage, buying here, selling there --You are sold cheap everywhere in town!-- lingering, touching fingers, withdrawing gathering forces into blares, hummocks, peaks and rivers--river meeting rock --I wish that you were lying there dead and I sitting here beside you.-- It's the grey moon--over and over. It's the clay of these parts.
THE DESOLATE FIELD
Vast and grey, the sky is a simulacrum to all but him whose days are vast and grey, and-- In the tall, dried grasses a goat stirs with nozzle searching the ground. --my head is in the air but who am I...? And amazed my heart leaps at the thought of love vast and grey yearning silently over me.
It is a willow when summe