I’m trying to tell you something
important to me
and you walk out the door,

He believes, he believes, the gray-eyed one 
who puts your shards together. 
(Cleft saucers are mended in Vitebsk.) 

Because I want to watch them do what I would like to do
if I were free, and because it is late and I am tired
and out for what I say is my nightly walk, I stop

For peace and peace and peace the prayers ascend

From tongues in darkness sung to tongues in light

In death

If we are truly free and live in a free country,
When shall I be without this heaviness of mind?
When shall I have peace? Peace this way and peace that way?

When I wake, the sheep are eating apple peels just outside the screen, the trees are heavy, soaked, and hushed, the sun just rising. All seems calm, and yet somewhere inside I am not calm. We live in wooden buildings made of two by fours, making the landscape nervous for a hundred miles. 

If we go back, if we walk into the old darkness. 
And find Washington brooding under the long bridges,
We will find the dead still ablaze in the anguish of the egg,

The long waves boom in the naked Norwegian caves, 
Men with gray hair come, men 
Like Polynesians, their long hair is like bark falling from a waterfall, 

You and I live here, along with many furry moles.
You and I have nowhere to live but with the moles;
We owe the mortgage on the house of Sorrow.

Bracelets, jade, rubies, teak, silver chain armlets,
Topaz, smoking sapphire, diamond tortoises of gold, 
Columbus glimpsed them behind the green hills before he died;