FROM THE GARDEN Comments

It climbs down a thread . . .

Up in the air
it knits transparency,

it catches flights in its knitting
and shrouds with light silks
the victims of its invisible skill.

The day dawns,

rain and sun
make of its net a great lamp:
hanging from the threads of air
a thousand drops catch the light,
the collar of liquid beads shimmers,

scratching the air,
the miracle freely climbs up a thread.
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