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It has a hole in it.   Not only where I

                                 concentrate.
                                                                 
The river still ribboning, twisting up, 

                           into its re-
                                                   
arrangements, chill enlightenments, tight-knotted

                                     quickenings
                                                 
and loosenings--whispered messages dissolving

                           the messengers--
                           
the river still glinting-up into its handfuls, heapings.

                                      glassy
                                                  
forgettings under the river of

my attention--

and the river of my attention laying itself down--

                                          bending,
                                                          
reassembling--over the quick leaving-offs and windy

                                  obstacles--
                                  
and the surface rippling under the wind's attention--

rippling over the accumulations, the slowed-down drifting

                                      permanences
                                                                          
of the cold

bed.

I say iridescent and I look down.

The leaves very still as they are carried.

Added: 25 Mar 2002 | Last Read: 26 May 2012 4:04 PM | Viewed: 4236 times

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