15
Drydust in God's eye the aquavivid skin
of Simon snoring lit with fountaining dawn
when my eyes unlid, sad.
John Cotton shines on Boston's sin–
I
3m
drawn, in pieties that seem
the weary drizzle of an unremembered dream.
Women have gone mad
at twenty-one. Ambition mines, atrocious, in.
16
Food endless, people few, all to be done.
As
pippins roast, the question of the wolves
turns
&
turns.
Fangs of a wolf
will
keep, the neck
rotind of a child, that child brave. I remember who
in
meeting smiled
&
was punisht, and I know who
whispered
&
was stockt.
We lead a thoughtful life. But Boston's cage we shun.
17
The winters close, Springs open, no child stirs
under my withering heart, 0 seasoned heart
God
grudged
his
aid.
All things else soil like a shirt.
Simon
is
much away. My executive stales.
The town came through for the cartway by the pales,
but my patience is short.
I revolt from, I am like, these savage foresters
18
whose
passionl~
dicker in the shade, whose glance
impassive
&
scant, belie their murderous cries .
when quarry seems to show.
Again I must have been wrong, twice.
Unwell in a new way. Can that begin?
God
brandishes. 0 love, 0 I love. Kin,
gather. My world is strange
and merciful, ingrown months, blessing a swelling trance.
