When Elephants Last in the Dooryard Bloomed

Old Mars, Then Be a Hearth to Us (#litres_trial_promo)

The Thing That Goes By Night: The Self That Lazes Sun (#litres_trial_promo)

Groon (#litres_trial_promo)

That Woman on the Lawn (#litres_trial_promo)

A Train Station Sign Viewed from an Ancient Locomotive Passing Through Long after Midnight (#litres_trial_promo)

Please to Remember the Fifth of November: A Birthday Poem for Susan Marguerite (#litres_trial_promo)

That Is Our Eden’s Spring, Once Promised (#litres_trial_promo)

The Fathers and Sons Banquet (#litres_trial_promo)

Touch Your Solitude to Mine (#litres_trial_promo)

God Is a Child; Put Toys in the Tomb (#litres_trial_promo)

Ode to Electric Ben (#litres_trial_promo)

Some Live like Lazarus (#litres_trial_promo)

These Unsparked Flints, These Uncut Gravestone Brides (#litres_trial_promo)

And This Did Dante Do (#litres_trial_promo)

You Can Go Home Again (#litres_trial_promo)

And Dark Our Celebration Was (#litres_trial_promo)

Mrs. Harriet Hadden Atwood, Who Played the Piano for Thomas A. Edison for the World’s First Phonograph Record, Is Dead at 105 (#litres_trial_promo)

What Seems a Balm Is Salt to Ancient Wounds (#litres_trial_promo)

Here All Beautifully Collides (#litres_trial_promo)

God for a Chimney Sweep (#litres_trial_promo)

To Prove That Cowards Do Speak Best and True and Well (#litres_trial_promo)

I, Tom, and My Electric Gran (#litres_trial_promo)

Boys Are Always Running Somewhere (#litres_trial_promo)

O to Be a Boy in a Belfry (#litres_trial_promo)

If I Were Epitaph (#litres_trial_promo)

If Only We Had Taller Been (#litres_trial_promo)

Keep Reading (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)

Also by the Author (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)

Remembrance (#ulink_ca0c123e-1b71-500d-8285-c70be1aca998)

And this is where we went, I thought,

Now here, now there, upon the grass

Some forty years ago.

I had returned and walked along the streets

And saw the house where I was born

And grown and had my endless days.

The days being short now, simply I had come

To gaze and look and stare upon

The thought of that once endless maze of afternoons.

But most of all I wished to find the places where I ran

As dogs do run before or after boys,

The paths put down by Indians or brothers wise and swift

Pretending at a tribe.

I came to the ravine.

I half slid down the path

A man with graying hair but seeming supple thoughts

And saw the place was empty.

Fools! I thought. O, boys of this new year,

Why don’t you know the Abyss waits you here?