Together burned and swept,
Now smothered
In separate darkness.
IX. MUD
I am dazed and weary
From the shapelessness
Of what I am—
I am poured
Among haphazard stones
In meaningless patterns.
Yesterday's sun dried me
Between rounded cobbles,
Today's deluge sweeps me
Toward alien pavements,
Tomorrow's sun shall dry me
In a new design.
Better the turbid gutter
Toward the open sea!
X. FOOLS SAY—
November's breath
Is black in the branches of trees
And under the bushes,
Harsh rain
Whips down the rustling dance
Of leaves.
There is smoke
In the throat of the wind,
Its teeth
Bite away beauty.