893
In the shelter's
Alcoholic pigeon's draggled feather's
Jaunty bobbling--
In this post-meridian backlit sprig's
Counterswing to his parading march--
Is spring's flag, at once
Instant's hinge and swinging season's arc.

892

891

890

889

888

887

886

885
Insomnia's edgeless hour
Weighs sun on eye,
Where present from itself is pressed
And time unwatched freely winds
In labyrinth.
.
Cross the dusk sky
Bird by rule--
A skein of memory,
Seeming-self,
In sleep surcease.

884

883

882
When the knife comes
Is that the edge and it must
Ever due that point
And division blunt,
It is an air of stone
Noumena of absence,
Of what is and will not be.

881

880

879

878

877
Past without memory
The old photo,
Of happed evitability
Comprised, an eye,
Hand, unfettered by a moment's leash
To mark the epoch of a stranger.

876

875

874

873

872

871

870

869

868

867
Oh longing-- it is as breath drawn--
What did the tree dark speak of dusk--
One strains to hear, not listening
To shadows that may be giant--
Such a pulse! Is it hidden there?
The branches vein of paler night?
It must be you so far away.

866

865
In the morning glass of trains'
Affinity for reflection
Is nature alike in held and holder--
The narration's stuff for author and actor;
Mirror's flash of sun for the other.

864

863