The second book had to do with some ‘Prelude’ poems about a greenhouse that I grew up around. That’s a metaphor – I mean my unconscous is going to be (?) It’s terribly labyrinthine the whole process. One called ‘Child on Top of a Greenhouse’.
Child on Top of a Greenhouse
The wind billowing out the seat of my britches,
My feet crackling splinters of glass and dried putty,
The half-grown chrysanthemums staring up like accusers,
Up through the streaked glass, flashing with sunlight,
A few white clouds all rushing eastward,
A line of elms plunging and tossing like horses,
And everyone, everyone pointing up and shouting!
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