1713
1712
As a lace of marble
Unworn by years
Signs grace and fluid stillness
To an eye that yearns,
So once there is a way
To show what is hidden
Will art know its reflection,
If it be to reflect.
1711
1710
1709
1708
1707
The concept of an hour
Unmakes and makes a time
To be, and gone,
In a seeming arc
Of identity.
But catch an instant
To its next and last,
Then unnaratived spring my motions,
And my body both thought's vessel
And manifestation.
What whole is not a part
Of some still greater art?
1706
1705
1704
1703
1702
1701
1700
1699
1698
Enwheel this moment
Of evening light
Round with memory,
To stay what must go:
Moon, sky,
And answering shadow;
Stay this season of embracing sense,
By these tokens engendered;
For I feel the millrace of hours,
That wants no perception to run its course.
1697
1696
1695
1694
1693
1692
1691
Heard the low piano in the empty rooms
Like a church of my interior
Where every breath's symbolic,
And present sacrament
And rite of nothing.
Though another press the key,
There will be silence when I go.
