226 A stone lies on the beachy shelf, Its sand pedestal fed and eaten By the obedient curving wave. . In the lacunae of the habitual Is a chance thorn among millions, And the drop pricked there may fabric Cove, sand, wave, sky, and all.
215 The meaning of a strand of hair Is not, and is not in the eye. The words that would carriage a reflection Slough intention: There is nothing in that still pool-- But undue specificity, A diffraction of seeming.
209 It's an illness when looking at the sky Having one but thinking of the next-- What is it, without words? A nausea of longing Engendering blankness. Unperceived: the thud of a distant storm And a horizon's shadowing flash.