birthday poetry

i saw the clouds among the hills
as it
he speaks not well
moonlight deep and tender
i went up and down the streets
if the red slayer think he slays
be in me as the eternal moods
simply speaking
among the smoke and fog of a december afternoon
wrap the earth in cloudy weather
i saw the archangels in my apple-tree last night
gone are the three, those sisters rare
we break the glass whose sacred wine
there was a strangeness on your lips