I know the color blue when I see it, and the flavor of
a pear when I taste it ... but about the inner nature
of these facts ... I can say nothing at all. — W.J.
Pears will come to you if you are patient
Blue will come a mood of green
so confusion rules all things
The mind an appetite grammarian
summons gods from glances
full of chance antiquities
I met you in a place that is that place
because I met you the spine of English
softening between us
a village
where each through his sewing
and weaving utters the mimic’s prayer
to memory
It is permanently summer there
hedgerows mostly
a sort of slow vanishing
your image from every vantage
absented
So tugs possession impatient and abstract
whose troubled grace is lack.