Robert Creeley: The Rhythm
It is all a rhythm,from the shuttingdoor, to the windowopening,the seasons, the sun’slight, the moon,the oceans, thegrowing of things,the mind in menpersonal, recurringin them again,thinking the endis not the end, thetime returning,themselves dead butsomeone else coming.If in death I am dead,then in life alsodying, dying …And the women cry and die.the little childrengrow only to old men.the grass…













