June Was Tender

You Can Still See Her

Swinging In The Moon-scythe

Like Spirits Or Ghosts

That Nobody Sees

That Nobody Believes In

June Was Tender

You Can Still See Her



If The Red-skin Had Been Of Flesh

He Wouldn't Have Spent So Many Years

Listening To June In The Waves

If The Red-skin Had Been Of Flesh

He Wouldn't Have Spent So Many Years

Listening To The Voice That There Wasn't



June Would Like To Be

Under The Earth

Like A Beautiful Stone-hand

White Open

With The Streched Palm

On Wich Falling Asleep

Or At Least

Intimately Thinking