1942–
She Speaks a Various Language
The floor is cold
the ground frozen
This is the bottom
All the world’s seeds have wound down
And just when the stem of my spine
seems to have dried up
and become a stalk
on which my head merely nods
just when I think nothing is left alive
the bare branches of the trees
rise up, beckoning
And it isn’t simply
that I want to go out to them
They also want me to come
Come, they say in their motion
in their scraping of branch against branch
like a woman rubbing her hands together
Come with us where we are going
Walk with us up into the wind