Mornings with my dog for company
I’m happy—the world so close—
And though I can’t say
What this means
I carry it
A slumbering green picture.
There are hidden instruments
In the hedgerow
Which are not birds.
We pass an army
Of empty houses.
Even short poems must give you the opera entire.
Judas’ money went to the paupers’ graves.
Les Troyens breaks my heart even as I smile.
Walking near a lake with lilies, late autumn.
I look up when branches swing.
The ears do all the work and drift away.