Clouds
Levertov describes the clouds in this poem as climbing with urgency. In her eyes they move with an increasing docile and melancholy energy, coursing quickly through them in the speed of the evening. They hurry above the roofs and walls of buildings.
Levertov then switched the narrative to describe a person lying close to her. The night before, their skin was cold when she touched it, which she described like death's paleness illuminating them. She then readjusts her description from cold, to simply cool, like the warmth was being drained from them. Her thigh hurt with heat in her fear as it touched this person's thigh. However, she is pushed to contemplate her dream of the sky, which is limited and fenced in, unlike the real sky where the clouds wander.
It appears, misty and gray, in her mind's eye. She begins to include her companion next to her in the narrative at this point, revealing that they observe this sky closely together. They see that the gray color is actually a milky white with veins of other colors, such as green and blue, running through it. When they see the fading and gleaming color, they suddenly, only at this point, notice a field appearing, that extends from the point that they stand far into the horizon.
It is a field of fresh, green grass, like that seen in the heart of spring. It is spotted with dandelions, creating diverse patterns of green and gold. Reverting back to the real situation at hand, Levertov asks a rhetorical question, wondering whether the cold feeling of death upon their bed is all it seems to be, or whether is is to be observed more closely, like the gray in that sky.
Levertov concludes the poem by cleaning her glasses and looking towards the west, emptying her mind of the fog from the day and resting upon herself for support to look at the true colors. She observes the clouds as they appear before her, following the sun that has fallen.
The Ache of Marriage
This poem describes the subtle pain of marriage. It causes the thigh and also the tongue, which are loved, the be weighed down with marriage. The teeth pulse with the pain. Levertov and her partner are seeking a communion but are rejected, both of them loved. Levertov describes marriage as leviathan, and she, with her partner, are within its stomach, seeking joy, just a little. They wish to be known within the context of marriage, not outside of it: a pair in the wake of the ache of marriage.
To The Snake
Levertov speaks to a snake in this poem. It is green in colour. She tells it of when she draped its body around her neck and felt its throat, cold and pulsing as it hissed, whilst looking upon the gold, pointed scales and experiencing its weight on her shoulders. At the same time she hears the snake's drysilvery scales whisper near to her ear.
Addressing the snake, she continues to describe how, while this is happening, she promised her friends that he was harmless. Yet, within herself, she really has no true hope or certain reassurance of this fact. She only wants to hold the snake, for the happiness and joy that lasts throughout the dark morning, continuing even when the snake slithers off into the shadowy grass.
A Happening
Two birds are presented, flying towards the East, reaching the night at about three o'clock in the afternoon. At this time, the stars appear in the sky above the badlands, and the lands covered in snow. The birds struggle on, deciding not to turn back and find the afternoon which has passed. They go further into the soft wilderness, between the edges of night, and meet the dawn during a rainy storm in the City. Here they land on the pavement, along with torn paper bags. They have landed on 42nd Street and become human in shape.
They go their separate ways, one going uptown beside the Broadway river towards its source, and the other the opposite direction, downtown, to look upon the harbor. However, each are attacked by shadows that speak to them, pleading in a mysterious manner. These shadows are partly menacing and draw them into streets, moving doorways, tiny spaces without names around the back of buildings, airshafts with an absence of air. This happens until there is no more evidence of man, of birds or of paper.
The Departure
Levertov begins the poem by asking if her audience has the moon in safety. She pleads that they tighten the strings, and push the baguette they have lower down so that the light does not crush it. Apparently, such a pleasant baguette, golden-brown in color and perfectly white inside, is not a common, every-day sight. She commands them not to leave the end in without the ocean. She suggests putting it in with the shoes and attaching the moon behind. She ends the poem with an exclamation that it is time.
Seems Like We Must Be Somewhere Else
The poem opens with a scene of a procession of rose-blue bells. There are eyes in the tree-tops, red like a band-stand, that observe this procession. They ask if they are really what they think they are, or if they are whatever becomes of them. People see it from their windows and are the eyes seeing it. Levertov exclaims 'Daytime!' before exclaiming that it could be twilight. She states that if they are there, they might as well be there in that moment. She repeats a description of the scenery - 'the sweet procession, rose-blue,' and again reiterates that if they are there, they might as well be there in the moment.
Levertov ends the poem with a question, asking who invented the train whistle, concluding that it was a lonely man, who simply desired the train to speak on his behalf.
