Book III

 

The Broom so bright (Y as in yellow) corbel flower, lippy sweet, one sudden
day 500 times collapsed upon itself, like tea leaves. Here the checkered Now
sinks sulky plumblines in small places, makes liminal shunts, finds the
odd hole this near. Nearer than near, nearest. Neaten fear. All
(of the above) shuttles back and forth or sinks, steeping.
The future:
(bullet) knotted tendencies
(bullet) visionary horrors
(bullet) coinciding plunder
(bullet) comfortless costs.
“A” figure backlit, note also fig. “B”
the naked wanderer foot misstepped, skidded
cross the loose stones that cover the highway
a falling forward dizzy Fell.

For few have found just covenants that hold.

For here and there are both displayed and crushed.

An im memor able dust

spangled [for those who care at all]

with kindred multitudes of stars

is strewn where we are

where we lie

tense and restless, twisted lot and cowed.

Should we assume there can be real covenant,

not given, not imposed, not crazed, but struggled

for and wide? Or should that hope be

given out as gone?

 

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