It could happen again. It will.
But this time the geography will be more final,
more certain of the rain and its echo

Up the reputable walks of old established trees
They stalk, children of the nouveaux riches; chimes
Of the tall Clock Tower drench their heads in blessing

At White River Roadhouse in the Yukon
A bell rings in the late night:
A lone car on the Alaska highway

Small girls with gaudy flowers
flash down the bare walk road

her eyes and smile are elsewhere:
swelling out and sailing to the future

the curvd lines toe-drawn, round cornerd squares
bulge out doubles from its single pillar line, like,
Venus of the Stone Age.

First            Samish Bay
             then all morning, hunting oysters

August was foggy,
September dry.
October grew too hot.

Plunging donkey          puberty devi 
       flings her thighs, swinging long 
   legs backward on her mount 

WANOKA (AP) Chimney Rock, which stood for centuries on the Oklahoma plain as a towering guide for covered wagons crossing the treacherous Cimarron River, has fallen victim to the same forces which created it. “Moisture and wind, the tools that sculpted it, reduced the eerie formation to a heap of rubble,” said Ernie Crumpler, Oklahoma University geologist.