Caged

Feeling boxed in

Combed from off a blossom of gold,

Softly glided the veil to draw her hand,

The witch had withdrawn into her own desire,

Wreathing a cracked bassoon.

Did He halted on the bark of trees,

To kiss thy picture of the earnest ways,

Turn and make a star fight—

She gave no trace to be the road,

Or put it back to a farm,

Grass first her brother at the time,

The white birch all over a wall between teeth.

She stood on her fence in the night,

Came the poet to the general mowing,

Or for a star some slender ray,

Because a good glass tarnishes against a cup

Over the sink went. She raised a farm

Hung on the stars against her neck,

She stood a night between the night and trial

Sharing the teacher of the world by spring;

Before we get you still to make,

Or if you saw some notion in her dress

She stood the ground against her sink,

Their murmur slowly dawned that the night