43

A light comes through the trees sharp
And moving like on water like a
Crackle that burns one place then in
Another like a soft mobile of stars
As the arms of trees undulate some
In the wind that is like a current
And it falls snowily on the small
Hazel that seems breathing in it or
As if it bore it out of the leaves or
As if a lighttree stood right behind it
And it falls on the climbing roses
That topple from the wall and flame
Yellow and violet at the terminations
Like childrens' fists clenched and then
The halfsun goes in and in but wind
Comes still over the restless grass with
A feeling of grey and the crock
Of stones at the water's edge are veined
Blue and look like brains spilt out
Grey and creamy in the fatted cloudlight.