Tender and tremulous green of leaves
Turned up by the wind,
Twanging among the vines -
Wind in the grass
Dreams only change their houses.
They cannot be lined up against a wall
And quietly buried under ground,
Of faces, façades, pawn-shops,
Smoky and fly-blown glass of lunch-rooms,
Innumerable ions of light,
All to their foci tending…
You can see the sandhills from our new room.
live in the sandhills
Oh, God did cunningly, there at Babel -
Not mere tongues dividing, but soul from soul,
So that never again should men be able
To fashion one infinite, towering whole.