-
As if a cock crowed past the edge of the world,
-
confessing it. This is what poems are:
-
The wildflowers scatter in warm tints until
-
The middle one’s the conversation
-
Each time I go outside the world
-
“Makes me end,
-
sweet sunset scent from unseen source,
-
He fell that morning, Daedalus-like, into the sea
-
Where can we go
-
Yes, now that this exists in time, I thought,