I. Stony Run

She sells books
We went to see the place
The wish for a country place
She spreads the packets
We are that kind of country folk
When clouds race in
Upon slowly waking, Everyman
Snowed in
I turned up the weeds
Frost at midnight
Sometimes
Or, sometimes
Countrymen in August
Deadheading
Meteor night
Bandita
Below the wide window
Press Run
Normandie
Lettuce in winter
It was not enough to see