April 10

and then a sun came and the birds blew wild
whistling wizard, whistling
blue heavens blue river gentle and mild

the wind in the windows adminished
sails of clothesline pillow, whistling dixie,
whistling come ye all

highway pans and pixies, rumbling down
the dead fern rows and down
the high summit rails, chinks in the breeze

like four feathered arrows,
cottoning thunder, from a hundred
plundred bowery churchbells

like those night trains
in the west skagit valleys
echoing, heralding harmonically 

tales of the buried gold,
of the days when the sun came brimming
like a singing glass bowl