Happy in all that ragged, loose collapse of water, the fountain, its effortless descent and flatteries of spray.

There is a poignancy in all things clear, In the stare of the deer, in the ring of a hammer in the morning. Seeing a bucket of perfectly lucid water We fall to imagining prodigious honesties.

Whatever pains disease may bring Are but the tangy seasoning To Loves delicious fare.

Happy in all that ragged, loose collapse of water, the fountain, its effortless descent and flatteries of spray.

Caught Summer is always an imagined time. Time gave it, yes, but time out of any mind. There must be prime In the heart to beget that season, to reach past rain and find Riding the palest days Its perfect blaze.

Outside the open window The morning air is all awash with angels.

Odd that a thing is most itself when likened