A new embroidery of flowers, canary color,
dots the grass already dotty
with aster-white and clover.
In a skiff on a sunrisen lake we are watchers.
Swimming aimlessly is luxury just as walking
loudly up a shallow stream is.
On reading Susanne K. Langer's Mind
If leaf-trash chokes the stream-bed,
reach for rock-bottom as you rake
The big doll being broken and the sawdust fall
all scattered by my shoes, not crying
I sit in my dark to discover o failure annulled
opens out in my hands a purse of golden
(for Douglas, at one)
Archaic, his gestures
hieratic, just like Caesar or Sappho
or Mary's Jesus or Ann's Mary or Jane