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.
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.
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.