677
Nebula to a faceted eye
The pool in evening in a chemical light--
The swarm itself a galaxy in small,
A motion's eon to an instant pressed--
Strangely grave
The fancies of the loungers aquamarine,
Somber after a summer labor
Under the slow dark wheel.

676

675

674

673

672

671

670

669

668

667
The grass has a flatness, yet single with shadows,
And the water beyond with glints, signs, has the pucker of a gull calling a wave to focus,
And the fence, against the terror, just so--
Grass, fence, water alternating in essence,
Eye, and shadow-casting form complacent.
O, summoned tableaux!
As careless of a sum as continuity imagined.

666

664

663

662

661

660

659
In this visual field there are many things,
Trees and such, people, light,
That need no accounting,
All in completeness and one may weary of it
To death--the distillation of time behind the eye
Become tongue bitterness;
Or weightless to thought's matter;
Or lost in the obviate density of the sparrows.
.
I've lost my umbrella that interweaved construction--
I was fond of its articulation.
But a willful obscurity may suffice,
And the leaves, in their tedious sun-seeking.

658

657

656

655

654
I must relinquish the moon tho she was never mine
In this part of a tale or dream
Enskyed in my pocket and I in hers
Strangely bound and free.
Content me now to far observe
In the mutable dark her hand dipped
Making the unseen, light.

653

652

651

650

649
In the new conglomerate
The sun sits in cloud
White through the scales of gray
To the palisade grooved, curbed--
The sky in reduction
Canyoned.
Shoot the city, hawk dive
Tuck, wide to close sped
Smooth gear slid--
From foreshortened towers shadow-webbed,
To full- frame prey,
And pause, upon a final disarray.

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647

646
Touching the night, fingertip
Recall day's clarifying
Impulse, the warm and
Sweep of light.
Take the memory,
In her's receding,
Save in lone night.

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642

641

The shadow's in the grackle in the tree shade

Dark in dark and shooting beams

From yellow eyes,

And spreading coolness thru in-feathered sparks of blue.

Open, beak, silence

In summer her silent gasp

And wings of shadow

Dark, and sun beyond.

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636
The jar tyranny of expectation, in ocean
Absence unpossessed of anything but the hour's false measure;
A tourette of hope and calamity
Become a wall in the sand to the water's edge.
We do not conclude. This is.

635

634

633
At the private beach there was nothing to feel but the ocean
Which pushed its silence over the sand and the bathers
Whose words held no sound.
No luxury of idleness, but a stone of the next
On a moment's spring compressed.

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631

630

629

628
Not to the manner writ
Nor figured in a realm aside to purpose set,
But a bespoke eye in the mirror unmet
In harried stillness, in arrested distraction.