I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox
and which
you were probably
saving for breakfast
Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold
the back wings
of the
hospital where
nothing
will grow lie
cinders
in which shine
the broken
pieces of a green
bottle
Among
of
green
stiff
old
bright
broken
branch
come
white
sweet
May
again
so much depends
upon
a red wheel
barrow
glazed with rain
water
beside the white
chickens.