Collecte Works (26 page)

Linnaeus in Lapland

Nothing worth noting

except an Andromeda

with quadrangular shoots—

              the boots

of the people

wet inside: they must swim

to church thru the floods

or be taxed—the blossoms

              from the bosoms

of the leaves

Fog-thick morning—

I see only

where I now walk. I carry

             my clarity

with me.

Hear

where her snow-grave is

the
You

            
ah you

of mourning doves

Cricket-song—

What's in The Times—

               your name!

                   Fame

here

on my doorstep

—an evening seedy

                quiet thing.

                    It rings

a little.

                      
Musical Toys

                                               for a blind child

Do you see?—

sharp spires—

you could be hurt

       by the church.

Better

this dog

tinkling

    three nice

            mice

blind.

I fear this war

will be long and painful

and who

             pursue

it

Van Gogh could see

twenty-seven varieties

       of black

             in capitalism.

No matter where you are

you are alone

and in danger—well

                      to hell

with it.

How white the gulls

in grey weather

                Soon April

                the little

yellows

Springtime's wide

water-

          yield

but the field

will return

White

among the green pads—

         which

            a dead fish

or a lily?

Dusk—

He's spearing from a boat—

How slippery is man

              in spring

                            when the small fish

                                           spawn