ROBERT BEUM A HOUSE O\ THE FREEWAY The world was down there from the clouds and pigeons of murmuring gables, the clear and shadowy grain of still oak that holds— floor, stairway, and sill...
...What the bulldozers push is rooms I woke in, the boards I kept the years in, the windows to Rapunzel's hair and the first rainbows . . . the only homes are the years...
