do not stay longwhere we walk up and downa ground for visionsis not enoughspent in seeingthese places never singof the light of a better placethan the grave
love is fallen upon melike cutting down a treeto make better lightwith my whole bodyI appease my desireto be nobodybut I see how fanatic tenantswould garden on so little groundbeing almost starved
we hear nothing till matters settleof the vast trade of money at dear ratesan audience full of weak handsand seahorse teethhaving love for the high groundthat great taffeta the world wears
her stark anatomyin the gardenI look at the grounda city ordered to be kept shutthe body’s a thingof bad colors
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