A Faithful Account of Where I Live: The Letters of Cid Corman and William Bronk

25 September 73

Dear Cid,

Yes, it is almost all silence and almost no metaphor now.

Tonight at Sherman's farm at hardly seven o'clock the west all aglow on the blue. White geese on the pond and groups of ducks flying over. Frost only in spots so far and the wild asters in all their various glory. Asteroids. Still a few of the earlier flowers lingering: black-eyed susans, Queen Anne's lace, chicory, clover, some of the golden-rods.

[. . . .]

["The Conclusion" attached]

emptiness, phantasmagoria,

Bill