FAS




Isn't it time to let things be:.
I don't pick up the drafts-book,.
I ease out of the typewriter room:.
 
bumblebees' wings swirl.
free of the fine-spun of words:.
the brook blinks.
 
a leaf down-bed, shadow mingling,.
tumbling with the leaf,.
with no help from me: do things let alone.
 
go to pieces: is rescue written.
already into the motions of coherence:.
have words all along.
 
imitated work better done undone:.
one thinks not ruthlessly to bestir again:.
one cases off harsh attentions.
 
to watch the dew dry, the squirrel stand.
(white belly prairie-dog erect).
the mayfly cling daylong to the doorscreen.
 
 
 
A. Ammons
Giving up Words with Words






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