I saw the tall bush burn.
(Nineteen times a gallows tree,
the tongue of fire muted by our guilt. There cannot be
a voice for deaf New Englanders vowed never to be healed.)
Then I saw where a manna of flame had unfallowed the
starving field:
where a witch charred
where her bones roared
where each of the good-wives took her choice of holiday or skewered house
and the mewing children barked another name
to their elders gathering apple-wood boughs
and the sweet, the kindling fern;
while cinders blew; and shame.
Fall in Massachusetts
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