Afterwards the cheerful birds still woke me—bands of crows blaring,
and the darling sparrows chirping for their lives. Somebody had died.
The trouble with you is you’re notloving enough. A drasticsummons, a trumpet of
Poetry is not a code to be broken but a way of seeing with the eyes shut,
Thirty miles or so south of L. A. stand two hangars, like two tombs on the plain between the freeway and the mountains,
The hawk sweeps down from his aerie,dives among swallows,turns over twice in the air,
It’s too beautiful today. Even the ramshackle Fine Arts Work Center is beautiful