Did it mean anything? The stone, the rose,

darkness, wood, wind, flame, the violin.

The practical man, the visible world,

the painted ponies, the sea, the wilderness

of cellophane, my last word, my crumpled message

to my friend? Was I in search of something,

tools maybe, or seeds, for many odd things

are stowed under the over-thinking.

Let’s begin to talk about things,

and what they should be named,

and whether it will be necessary

to draw any of them.

The sound of the tea-kettle —

it was the most terrible thing in the world.

Sometimes it was a wolf, and sometimes

a man or a woman, whatever it felt like,

even falling cherry blossoms, and always

it could take you out, and then it did,

leaving the whole room as impressive

as an unexplored cave.