crows appeared as ruffled shadows,

singing their hysterical song

with all the world’s beauty and cruelty inside them;

and within the dark blue morning glory I saw

the waiting hours, their gone color–

Yet, also there was laughter,

and the Kinnkinnick’s tiny lanterns;

I am alone in the place where loveliness burns the eye–

It is then I see,

always, like a floating ghost

the shy child’s white dress, left behind

on the twisted black

branch of the mesquite.