After A Hundred Years Nobody

The Crime, From Us, Is Hidden, [though] He Is Presumed To Know.

Life Is So Rotatory That The Wilderness Falls To Each, Sometime.

I Would Like More Sisters, That The Taking Out Of One, Might Not Leave Such Stillness.

A Dim Capacity For Wings Demeans The Dress I Wear.

Ample Make This Bed. Make This Bed With Awe; In It Wait Till Judgment Break Excellent And Fair. Be Its Mattress Straight, Be Its Pillow Round; Let No Sunrise’ Yellow Noise Interrupt This Ground.