The Encounter The dark was pregnant with bright stars for hours, A wind stirred up the falling bloom, For there, near the creased boughs, A shape moved lithe in stillness and fled. A soul that broke with overium sights, In silence bled luminous wine, From a noble chamber as theirs freed each weight. For let the songs be similar, renewed and lost. As we sing like torrents and turning rains, The natural landscape brought to light— Behold! These blooms release hidden tracks amid the dark.

• Ezra Pound