Ambit

                                                    Ambit

                                   Morning springs electric,
                                   the runed choirs of these trees
                                   bearing green spears of song;

                                                                               summer’s boy in sun—
                                                                               liquefaction of this pool
                                                                               so quick behind him;

star-shot, crisp, silent,
earthshroud night-still in white, in-
dissolubly one.

                                           evening falls quiet—
                                           in the dry eyes of old men
                                           dead leaves swirl to red;