M. A. Roberts

        Early Sunday—
Morning mountain,
Spring. I get out
Round sun-up, see
Peeks lurch outta
Dense fog, darkness a-
Rising outta the light
Sorta like
A whale's back
At eventide,
A mountain
Moving—

And after this
She speaks,
You better get ready
If you're goin' to church—

Hear red-headed pecker-wood
Drilling the birch?