Just a couple more.
This one is called 'Leaves' L-E-A-V-E-S.
The hunchback has come down from the mountains,
carrying a caldron on his shoulders wet with rust.
Having left his swine rooting among the snow mud and turnips,
ribs of a girl breaking from the soil.
At noon he stops on the spot fingers,
excuse me, at noon he stops on the spot spreads
his fingers sugared fruit that children catch at,
pull away smooth the shadows.
The great part lifts, sprouts mass,
drifts off, an old iron vessel with trembling leaf sails
and aged sailors looking back from their beards
as they glide singing into the boiling winds of the sun.