Poem by Edward Estlin Cummings

* * *

a fragrant sag of fruit distinctly grouped.

I have not eaten peppers for a week.

On this street the houses immensely speak
(it is nine minutes past six)

the well-fed L’s immaculate roar looped
straightens,into neatest distance....

A new curve of children gladly cricks
where a hurdy-gurdy accurately pants.

and pompous ancient jews obscurely twitch
through the bumping teem of Grand. a nudging froth
of faces clogs Second as Mrs. Somethingwich

(with flesh like an old toy balloon)

heavily swims to Strunsky’s,

                            Monia’s mouth
eats tangerines looking at the moon—

1. I have seen her stealthily frail
2. if learned darkness from our searched world
3. O Thou to whom the musical white spring
4. when unto nights of autumn do complain
5. this is the garden:colours come and go

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