John Haines Poems

at dusk
from the island in the river,
and it's not too cold,
...

It is made to be rolled down
a flight of stairs,
placed under a guilty hat,
or casually dropped into a basket
...

It may happen again - this much
I can always believe
when our dawn fills with frightened neighbors
and the ancient car refuses to start.
...

Slowly, without sun, the day sinks
toward the close of December.
It is minus sixty degrees.
...

I
Under the makeshift arbor of leaves
a hot wind blowing smoke and laughter.
Music out of the renegade west,
...