Page:The Pot of Earth.pdf/59

 To breed from me some living thing again, But only earth—

For fear my body should be drowned In her deep silences and never found.

The slow spring blossomed again, a cold Bubbling of the corrupted pool, a frothy Thickening, a ferment of soft green Bubbling— Who knows how deep the roots drink? They drink deep. And you, what do you hope? What do you believe, walking Alone in an old garden, staring down Beneath the shallow surface of the grass, The floating green? What do you say you are?