Son
was swallowed up by vanity.
The time of the girl broke his arms.
 
All that region belonged to her
widening range. And now
from the occupied hours
to her celestial branchings.
 
***
 
The hours were those that stamp their
feet entering and leaving the house.
Dragged along;
scions of the cornfield.
 
At meal time
they are still.
 
***
 
Just passing through, the one who
Never asked her name
Never worked the earth.
 
The girl sent him away
With the next gust of the wind.
 
***
 
The west winds promise rain to the birds.