between the shadow and the soul
I am a New England native. The hills, trees, and the red brick soiled by time and memory have called me back home from my time among the the desert mountains and neon.
I lie here thinking of you:—
the stain of love
is upon the world!
Yellow, yellow, yellow
it eats into the leaves,
smears with saffron
the horned branches that lean
heavily
against a smooth purple sky!
There is no light
only a honey-thick stain
that drips from leaf to leaf
and limb to limb
spoiling the colors
of the whole world—
you far off there under
the wine-red selvage of the west!
by William Carlos Williams, 1916
