o
willows I said how you return
gold to the nakedness of your limbs
coming again out of that country
into the longer sun
and Oh I said turning to the fluffy cattails
loosened to the approaching winds of spring
what a winter you leave in the pale stems
of your becoming
HYMN
Make lean the vowels of my lips
Do not let my words shimmer the placid
waters of your eternity
Leave my skull in the open the
wind can get to
saying the things the wind says curving round
the cool guidance of a bone
The sounds of the times do not drown
the nearly silenced fears
Let me relieving hear those fears speak
away from jangled roaring men
Who can be numbed by noise should hallow it
sounding in the violent obliteration of his fear
his
lonely helpful decibel they say
You who cannot write simplify
the vocabulary of my eyes
Let me move into the fringe of silence
where my words may have their slow revolving birth
for a diary to your eyes
in the throats of silent men
A. R. Ammons
