William Carlos Williams

From “Root Buds”

WHERE shall I find you—

You, my grotesque fellows

That I seek everywhere

To make up my band?

None, not one

With the earthy tastes I require:

The burrowing pride that rises

Subtly as on a bush in May.

Where are you this day—

You, my seven-year locusts

With cased wings?

Ah, my beauties, how I long!

That harvest

That shall be your advent—

Thrusting up through the grass,

Up under the weeds,

Answering me—

That shall be satisfying!

The light shall leap and snap

That day as with a million lashes!

Oh, I have you!

Yes, you are about me in a sense,

Playing under the blue pools

That are my windows.

But they shut you out still

There in the half light—

For the simple truth is

That though I see you clear enough …

You are not there.

It is not that—it is you,

You I want, my companions!

God! if I could only fathom

The guts of shadows!—

You to come with me

Poking into negro houses

With their gloom and smell!

In among children

Leaping around a dead dog!

Mimicking

Onto the lawns of the rich!

You!

To go with me a-tip-toe

Head down under heaven,

Nostrils lipping the wind!