I went to Michigantown, Illinois, and waited for spring; splendid surprise. The snowdrops are up, all of them glued together for light. No one sings the truth.

Fevered black sky. Tight in the fields, Screaming crow, whatever is crying is climbing up the white awnings. Those who fall into sleep. Yet, a glory returns— I know we are lost.

There’s too much beauty, let us collect it. We will never die. So let it cover the peaks, covering.

• Lorine Niedecker