seeing people flock in the city
on the leaden street
I wheel above
in all that nothing
clear of sign or chant
but to a child
things turn in my mind
doubt will operate as water
for something iron
but what passed last night
can I be with child
what can I be making
that might know me
poor child of God
knows what war
poor beast flinging off friends
and everything that is good
poor wind
and poor sordid water
poor wife forced
to go to court
we all look
into the water where
a child was brought to his death
not long since
his little sister
calling
my head full of ink
I had no wish to draw
fear having come
to live with us
as a child troubled all night
that could not speak
morning laid out
over all the ships
a child drums merrily
on the window
my taste is for madness
like a verse I never understand enough
I expect to find each child
gone to be born
and I fall into neglect
ward of a poisoned well
all my prayers lying
in an indifferent box
school used to be a time of lead
I was sworn to answer present
the grammar of children is an old shop
found in a new place
The hog, fattening, is
our common weather.
I found a home after
giving my wife
a child, a child.
And after supper, my ink
is a mother to greed.
my ugly dog—
having no child, I shall leave him
all this moon
a rose on ice
the children go away
to school tomorrow
Our pictures
do not please us
and so again
my acquaintance I made
and so I live
as long as a child
never playing
at home.