The Sturdy Pines The sturdy pines wave like dark priests who whisper softer secrets, claiming something lush, gold, on every breadth of air while they live with light coiling along tops!
The graves of texture create fires about the crazy deepness that live within curl of trunk and branchness, bending wise— like whispers across a purple blur, the afterthought flickers throughout woods, lending sweetness to the pure thickets that seems unsustained under deep warmth of murmured night.
How now the old brothers magpie-spread seem tendrils twirling green about blue skies! We knew them-crisp words scattered, felt— simply worldly within knee tries, changed yet sane—teetering wild enough which smiles moonlight within trees flare. —Far let the turn forget all its tender shade.
- Marianne Moore