712

Because I could not stop for Death—
He kindly stopped for me—
The Carriage held but just Ourselves—
And Immortality.

We slowly drove—He knew no haste
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For His Civility—

We passed the School, where Children strove
At Recess—in the Ring—
We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain—
We passed the Setting Sun—

Or rather—He passed Us—
The Dews drew quivering and chill—
For only Gossamer, my Gown—
My Tippet—only Tulle—

We paused before a House that seemed
A Swelling of the Ground—
The Roof was scarcely visible—
The Cornice—in the Ground—

Since then—’tis Centuries—and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first surmised the Horses’ Heads
Were toward Eternity—

You're the kind of girl
that makes someone want to write
and crumple up
***** of paper
because the words aren't right

so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens

White dust covered bark
cracked
in black slashes
to crowns of
gold
and yellow

I'll press my face against the wall
and pretend it's your cheek
on mine
even though it's cold
I need to watch less
****-o-graphy
It's making me
lonely