Slenderly the lean days close



Slenderly the lean days close
upon themselves. Nothing goes,
but stays here always, standing on its edge.
The green lane of the spring is for a mile a road
wet beneath a rain-washed winter sky.
Time falls out, remains; it does not fly.
The senses feel the unrelinquished load
of day on day and cannot see above the hedge
of shed urbanity. Nothing goes.
Slenderly the lean days close.






Language in a Narrow Place:
Titles and first lines