Her song like a letting        
she unclasped
 
Her buttons with slow         
fingers lest she be too warm saying I was
 
Trained up to my book—and careful not to neglect 
small necessities
 
Following honest
exercises her hand at her thin 
 
Neck walking on seams of frozen snow then           
going hard under the black iron street
 
Lamp wavering 
in willow willow willow:
 
                      Her salt tears fell from her and softened the stones
                      Hie thee and hie thee and 
                      Hie thee
 
Easy to sing, then, in a fluttering caw
sound (like a hollow
 
Fire):  desiring to be:  (when was it that I bloomed?) (who is it 
that knocks):  waiting without—
 
at the locked door for a key