EIGHT POEMS
Benediction
The wind in swells through the wild rye rolls.
The bright sky dulls. Over the hills,
Their green backs ringed with blue-
Bells sunset-rung, flaps a wingy shadow west-
Ward. A jay. Poor bird that no net
Met nor gin it didn’t love. Good luck,
You luckless scrub, you.
You dumb—, you doomed
Sucker. God bless.
After the Diagnosis
It’s not raining, how is that possible?& there’s a birdThere are squirrels bickering in the plumtree?Why would someone be flying a kite?That there’s enough windTo make the wind-Chimes chime—
