The valley’s gone

and present, dying



Come
Hamlet, come and
take this from me, this one

with distance
forgetful

There’s a man and he
gets inside the tree
He just gets inside it



Not to have



As I look over the fields
there it is

helpless unity



The gorse

What I contain

Forever

Touching his vineyard

Bodies

Pressed against a chair

(endless)

and night diaphanous, late

the tree blowing gradually, coruscating, the neutral
angels—


And it doth yet appear
that we shall be