Page:The Pot of Earth.pdf/59

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To breed from me some living thing again,
But only earth—

For fear my body should be drowned
In her deep silences and never found.


The slow spring blossomed again, a cold
Bubbling of the corrupted pool, a frothy
Thickening, a ferment of soft green
Bubbling—
Who knows how deep the roots drink?
They drink deep.
And you, what do you hope?
What do you believe, walking
Alone in an old garden, staring down
Beneath the shallow surface of the grass,
The floating green? What do you say you are?

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