Dear Heart
who made a circle bird
there on a purple tree,
who opened the houses
and flattened the steps,
give the truth back to me.
In your town now
the great-rayed sun
rolls on solid grass;
on streets that go from
down to up, big-headed
people pass. It seems
I used to live there
once: I saw just what I
knew, not caring what the
others said,
or if they saw it too.