Sometimes Nature in her quick wit

Conceives of the young monsters

I used to love. We lived next door to the house of a giant

With feet as large as a river, and a flowing vocabulary.

I used to love to see her lay down on her side in a snow bank

And storm about freely in her terrible games.

Do you think her heart held a somber flame

To heat the steam swimming behind her eyes?

How can I explain that she looked like Lois Lane?

Shall I run through the list of her enormous generosities?

Sometimes in Summer, when the sun blew open like a sailfish,

This girl would follow a stream from its font all day across the countryside

And fall asleep nonchalantly against a brown hill

Like a quiet hamlet at the foot of a mountain.