An awakening whisper: the trees,
Caution thwarted, this body poised
for surrender. Not giving in. Not
being able not to give in.
all thwarted, all trumped.
And by and by the gardens all
We are caving to the ruminations
of a slug.
Am I devoid of instinct
I hold up a mirror to see
a face. How bold it is.
Oftener than this I have
mis-spoke. How many
words cast as a javelin?
Into language; into
It uses image
It uses idea
It seeks integrity of sound
And now, for now, the rain upon
and stirring trees, it
There is no method to this session.
This difficulty is the difficulty
of the poem to yield a pleasure.