Friday, March 25, 2011


I could never govern Nature.
In silken lines

And knuckly spines I have in fact
Seen the illusions of perfection
Among the perfect

Once goes the rust of bleeding leaves.

Next the ecstatic foam of coupling water
In the fresh and open dews.

Once goes the compact of brave light--

Next the cowardice into which all eyes take comfort
And see.

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