Inhale breathe deeply and
there the mountain
is there are
flowers streams flow
simple bright goods clutter
the ravines the
air is thin & heady
the mountain
respires, is equal to
the whole
So much, is just
by pulse then
the sky clears, again
love is a term
of shadow and
the shade flickers
here, too
Since otherwise snap &
a false hope
less polythene lung
when so easily the
town fits to
the stride, we look
at pots of jam we
look upward
And so when it does
rain & will glide
sown our necks like
glances into
the soul, drop
lets work their
way forward the sinus
is truly the scent
of the earth, unpraised
Who shall make the
sigh, of the
waters, sign of
wain & coming down
over the ridge
the entire air a nod
to for
tune, who else
The leaves make drops, drop
down the great
tent of falling, the
twigs are inside
us, we the
branches beyond which
by which through which
ever the
entire brightness ex
tends
Do not deny this halo
the shouts are
against nothing we all
stand at variance
we walk slowly if it
hurts we rant it
it is not less than true oh
love I tell you so
As now, a term less than
misty forewarnings
less ready in simple
motions of cloud
we breathe the
same motions of habit
some part of the sky
is constant, that old
tune, Sonny Boy
Foot, how you press
me to keep that
old contact alive
the repeated daily sentiment
of pace so
grim, always that
untrusting silence
And the hill is a
figure, dust in the
throat
did you day that
or was
it merely spoken
as love a thirst for
this and both together the
morning
The whole cloud is bright
& a**embled now
we are drawn by simple
plea, over
the membrane and its
folded parts
into the point, and touch the
air streaming away