(WHAT IS SHE DOING NOW?) Comments

She writes. Writes.
Something tormented her. But not so
that the wind could
get at it.

Secretive wind. Under the eyes.
She stares.

As a rabbit hutch stares, as its cages,
as doric columns plus tympani
stare. Down below hay.

But writes lilac.
In drifting clouds.

Lilac in drifting clouds.

Small floating clouds.
Gathered they float off.
Ah how the top of the pear tree paws them.
This is

observed togetherness.
She also knew the corner of the house.
The corner of the house knew itself.

The corner knew exactly, without
being asked, what it represents.
...
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