Still after the clapper cracked the bell after the suffocating complicity of the riot summer's strangling tangling toil still there came quiet the colors of mediation in the fall twilight and robins chirping still and all potatoes and butternuts laid by the old bees dreaming how to die in a drunken reverie by the dripping press and asters and goldenrod murmuring darklights through the sleepiness of completed things After the blade had driven through the eye and spilled the gold something was won some recompense was had in the histories of anguish quietly told. Used with the permission of Copper Canyon Press, P.O. Box 271, Port Townsend, WA 98368-0271, www.cc.press.org |