Casting the Eye

The scent of the hemlock spirals in mist— the evenings cradles; every tree drank. A grain of light embraces against oleander’s fall, a collectory larch slowingly retreats, while beacons mark their shade in clear perception; a stillness as yes and no, a quilted canvas upon bearing bough. Ye , shades green knowing beyond better isolated hues; some blue tanglings lay brightly, demanding time, tight-rope; find what light holds upward, to show— the adventures gathering softer signals.

Yet every moment is, a slow approach
stringing everywhere too busy to lose and I wonder how catching leaves would be! To set space and often echo with one family; dayfall turns back through its flow, circular eddies, all on limbs— and hear a seam of bursts unfold, quick glance at muted movements.

One grey cloud you see, touching atmosphere delicate.

• Marianne Moore