Manuscript To a Maryland editor, 1943: The enclosed poems are sepa- rated by stars to save paper. Dear MacCloud: the poems called Goose separated by stars to save the sun— “We couldn't get away with these down here in the south on the brow of Washington”— appeared: your night's folk-tongue. Summer's away, I traded my chicks for trees so winter's tea-kettle on the high wood stove my feet to the heat my back in the shade will tally with the tit-wit that sang from the upmost branch. She was a mourner too. Now she's gone to the earth's core, with organ notes, buried by church that buries the live, intoning: That torture called by men delight touches her no more. So calm she looked, half smiling: Heaven? No, restore my matter, never free from motion, to the soil's roar.
