First Poems
I
Each room melts,
And fades into another.
They are pages of an album
In which pictures are
Too many
And too old.
1969
II
Sun and moon will stare
Upon the walls until
They crumble to the floor.
More cobweb fingers
Blindfold every window,
And they seal shut each door.
1972
Fragment
Dust is gathering.
It is thickening upon a window:
In this room the day is dark.
Days are floating
Through the moon light
To lie gathered in the Stills,
Vacant and unused.
1972
III
This place is rarely noticed.
Little is of interest.
The house stands like a headstone
Heavy winds read white
And smooth.
1969
IV
The house is
A head stone
Wind burns white
And smooth.
1972
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