^^^^^^^^^

starved on a pinnacle
deep in the air's history
light comes soothingly
of phantom tonnage

flaws in birch open raw lips
to the movement of weather
there's nothing happening in many barns
the small farms stilled on a Sunday

hanging naked in a willow
two lovers are stems and leaves
absenting themselves
from the traffic of the world

wide mouths fell open at the arrival of sound
young flower of water