There was once, moon, 69
These are the case-hardened fi ngers, 172
The sense of the real thirty years back in
The succession of bright scenes passes
The terrier barks. I look up from
The town lights are glittering, 308
The trim three-cornered head, 275
The two scholars with their oarsman, 70
The white, 231
They are exactly, 8
They fi nd in ruins of the Anasazi, 23
This bad country in the late afternoon
This busy lame-brain, 176
This chunk of mica-fl ecked rock I took,
This is how it was. Alone, 312
This last photograph, for the book
Though by our century's failing light,
Two of them home by chance the same
Up the long beach, a fl ock of
Well, it's an old aff air, 105
Well, it's a pretty sunset -- sherbet green,
We two at our reading this evening, 168
What, stirred still again as I stepped
When my old friend writes to me, 151
Where each oat tassel turns, 122
Where the canyon walls, 86
Whiskey of youth once mine, 53
Wild oats agile in the wind, 90
Wind spread the rain across the glass, I
You haven't kept the reader busy enough,
You soon drop down to the place, 91
You went in between big orange groves,