From TISH 1 (Fall 1961 ).

I cycle bumping

on a woods walking path

God leaning over me

with alder branches

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I swish through

a swamp puddle

disturbing pollywogs

oozing a trail

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visions of

Jesuit-habited Hopkins

traced among

the inscape trelliced sky

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out: into a street

straight man lines again

dry bright cement

lays itself under my wheel

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