lyric poetry

when the wind works against us in the dark
daughter, thou art come to die
candles toppling sideways in tomato cans
what spiteful chance steals unawares
against the green flame of the hawthorn-tree
weak-winged is song
to what shall a woman liken her beloved
let me move slowly through the street
you are clear
the hypocritic days
she knows a cheap release
if i had known how narrow a prison is love