Imagist

so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens

If I could catch the green lantern of the firefly
I could see to write you a letter.

Why do you subdue yourself in golds and purples?
Why do you dim yourself with folded silks?
Do you not see that I can buy brocades in any draper’ s shop,
And that I am choked in the twilight of all these colors.
How pale you would be, and startling —
How quiet;
But your curves would spring upward
Like a clear jet of flung water,
You would quiver like a shot-up spray of water,

Brighter than fireflies upon the Uji River
Are your words in the dark, Beloved.