Splendid green of oaks, opaque,
Arched to one side, a loom of light.
A brook singing the dull while.
Turn again. Here comes the succubus.
Becoming stranger and stranger to the eye.
Reflecting the oncoming night.=
Dove-grey cloud fading to black.
Hot, still noons above.
A wilderness arrives.
Her eyes on him - and then up.
Misty, azure, pregnant with Paradise tonight.
Sage brush. Mysterious outlines.
And you could mention the darkening road,
Cutting across all human laws of traffic.
Dark shoulder of the hill above.
A garden of magnolias,
Rainbows, Jack o' Lanterns.
Curve of the four big fields.
A long line of elm trees.
It is noon and inside the wood
Is the night wind.
A perfect love-song of indulgence.
then straight up to the stars.
An evening of perfect pleasure
With a perfect human.
The air is filled with static.
Green trees, a stream, cattle, perfect white
Through grey and blue orchards in bloom.
Gradually, her, at the point where love is
A low sun burning through a platinum haze
These are the trees
trees silhouetted against the horizon.
Swerving through the oncoming rai
Tall trucks studded with lights
The road studded with cats' eyes.
Clouds inscribed into the air.
Trudging slowly through
What the attendant called
The Grimpen Mire.
No lights here
Wind-tortured, withered stalks
Will o' the Wisps
Marsh fires, old bones and Indian pottery
Distant hillsides, their tops moving, stretching
He looked at the hill and the woods
Gradually perceiving the models
Of those dark and uncomfortable things
A drowsy child at bedtime.
He could only relax by staring
At the honest brightness of never.
Never did he dream.