The pilot said to the sudden tree,
And annihilation: no, stop.
He'd thought of
A consummation at a desk;
A continuance of one.
Breathe. The future is never here.
The still tree must haste to kill.
For instance an object,
The underside of a leaf in darkness,
Furnished with a voice;
This lamp-lit dailyness
Into signs translated:
The underside of a leaf,
Spear shape, shield, escutcheon,
And the solitude of one of many,
Is amazed in memory.