I
Among twenty snowy mountains,
The only moving thing
Was the eye of the blackbird.

II
I was of three minds,
Like a tree
In which there are three blackbirds.

III
The blackbird whirled in the autumn winds.
It was a small part of the pantomime.

IV
A man and a woman
Are one.
A man and a woman and a blackbird
Are one.

V
I do not know which to prefer,
The beauty of inflections
Or the beauty of innuendoes,
The blackbird whistling
Or just after.

VI
Icicles filled the long window
With barbaric glass.
The shadow of the blackbird
Crossed it, to and fro.
The mood
Traced in the shadow
An indecipherable cause.

VII
O thin men of Haddam,
Why do you imagine golden birds?
Do you not see how the blackbird
Walks around the feet
Of the women about you?

VIII
I know noble accents
And lucid, inescapable rhythms;
But I know, too,
That the blackbird is involved
In what I know.

IX
When the blackbird flew out of sight,
It marked the edge
Of one of many circles.

X
At the sight of blackbirds
Flying in a green light,
Even the bawds of euphony
Would cry out sharply.

XI
He rode over Connecticut
In a glass coach.
Once, a fear pierced him,
In that he mistook
The shadow of his equipage
For blackbirds.

XII
The river is moving.
The blackbird must be flying.

XIII
It was evening all afternoon.
It was snowing
And it was going to snow.
The blackbird sat
In the cedar-limbs.

I
Among twenty snowy mountains,
The only moving thing
Was the eye of the blackbird.

II
I was of three minds,
Like crystal ball
Both good and bad,

III
The blackbird continued to listen to me say,
No explanation is certain.

IV
A man and a woman and a blackbird
Are one.
A man and a blackbird and a man
Are two.

V
I do not know the name of the town
But I know Italy.
The towns were moved when I was nearing the end
And the poor were not continued to light machinery.
The people began to talk.

VI
Icicles filled the long window
With barbaric blue.
The shadow of the heavy wooden
crossings. Cover.
The blackbird flew.
The spiral bars
In which the blackbird hangs.

VII
O thin men of Haddam,
Why do you imagine golden hairs?
In a woman's left hand and a man's right
Scraped flat by the roller
of the body count?

VIII
The blackbird is smart enough not to see
the brilliant prism
Underfoot that casts her exhibition.
A blackbird is a man if he is a woman
But a cat is just a cat.

IX
When the blackbird flew,
It marked the border
Of sex and women.

X
I have a mental image,
Like a white board,
The identity of the blackbird with the piece
Of meat with the 'light'

XI
O thin men of Connecticut
who must be infatuated
With their eyes,
they see They pass them by
Like lots celebrating estradomena felicitas.
It was time for anthropomorphic blackbirds.

XII
It sat in the backyard,
Like a box that needs getting.

XIII
The blackbird is my judo piece,
my bone, my thumb. It is my cause
to victory and infamy and suffering,
red between Heaven and Earth, a
book in a box.