First US Printing: Hardcover, Reconstructionist Press, 1968.
Publishing Rights: Currently Unavailable.
We had it, we had it -- the violet hour,
We had the singed twilight for our own;
The lamps were headless and the years unformed,
And we had the silence in our hands
Like a seer's ball.
Today's face turns where there isn't any wall,
Today's heart yearns where the grass is dry;
There are shadows here that have forsaken masters,
And leaves of bronze that don't touch each other,
And light -- without ecstasy.
Appeal to black, numb trees and bloodless snow.
That are unseeing and beyond our clime;
Appeal to file-edged tongue of sky.
Then swallow soul's secret poison,
And seek haven in a hutch of rhyme.