Cottonwood, willow, and briar,
Night air billows in the dark grove,
Hauls the alders over, their leaves.
Jumping, spilling silver-bellied on the lawn;
The lighted wind is running with a flood
of green fish, phosphorescent and wild.
On the winter grass, breaking like struck matches,
Without warmth or place, random as green minnows.
Above the clouds the sky waits, one celled.
Expanded over tides and winds, loving
The south wind as much as the north,
Schooling the planets in discretion and form.