The Birth In A Narrow Room

Weeps out of western country something new. Blurred and stupendous. Wanted and unplanned. Winks. Twines, and weakly winks Upon the milk-glass fruit bowl, iron pot The bashful china child tipping forever Yellow apron and spilling pretty cherries. Now, weeks and years will go before she thinks "How pinchy is my room! How can I breathe! I am not anything and I have got Not anything, or anything to do!"- But prances nevertheless with gods and fairies Blithely about the pump and then beneath The elms and grapevines, then in darling endeavor By privy foyer, where the screenings stand And where the bugs buzz by in private cars Across old peach cans and jelly jars.