Find and share the perfect poems.
The mordants in their noise, the night transports. A means of coming to the switchyard of the tongue. To have once set such store by forced creatures. Not changed toward something of my own. The towns raised chaffed seas to ground them. In that frieze before storm you went on. Effigy loomed out of cornfield. Future inside its trussed forms.
From The Keep. Copyright © 2001 by Emily Wilson. Reprinted with permission of University of Iowa Press.
1 Native it seems to no part of the North American continent but some islets off the rugged scarps of the Aleutians in the loose entablatured cliffs among dwarf-willow tips. Known if at all by its silhouette (we can know such things by their silhouettes) the red-legged kittiwake glimpsed in isolate parts of Oregon California and southern Nevada said to go silent in winter slitting through snow the red-legged kittiwake. 2 The red of the red-legged kittiwake of a kinship with black solders across the ice-gaps. Native in no real part but its obdurate course the red- legged kittiwake goes
Sparrows swiveling the feeder so the seed whorls so the dove can come from its fix in the waver of cedars. Some one makes a husk note that a pair can flare into as if built from that scutch of the undergrowth— roughening birds, birds skimming into slits they fit into in trees between loads of the branches— through paths through encampment go dozens who work the steep yews combing the motes of the dove or milling its ground, shifting its bandings of gray and mole gray, taupe and slate gray beginning to scuff into lozenges, drab and saxe blue— one of them nicking the field where there'