Preferring the open veranda
wa tching stree ts outstretch to bodies,
you see a woman run in night gown
shouting aloud to the crickets,
And you ' re the same as her
reaching out from here
confined in a tapestry,
dying for a museum to enclose you.
David Bromwich
KICKAPOO WAR DANCE
Then autumn brought a slant of sunlight down
Compelling us to our o ld absences.
On po rches and toops the minor prophets lingered
Singing and play ing host to the mended a ir:
And wha t was fair, o r marvelou s, o r queer
The qui cke t cl arity no longer angered.
As a lways the wea ther frown ed upon majo r chances,
Leaves and viol ences too barely seen ,
The simpl e grave r semb lances of Myshkin .
Yet these, too far defined to hold a g lance,
Sent promi e of o rne milder reasoning,
As when the crippled newsboy cri es ' 'I'm saved"
With ju t the dail y thought of being loved :
These gave a sign tha t turning is lessening,
As if
to
elebra te in Ii som chants
The wi se demeano r of a glutted ashcan.
