When the sun barely comes through
and all browns are red
with wet sways that have hardly been thought of
with the air full as tree tops
when the morning seems to be inlets
and birds reappear
as boulders are almost the water
as views are both rounded and knowing
then this trove becomes time pure and careless
with earliest calls of life gathered neatly
to heart.

There’s nowhere a place that’s beyond here –
no further away than this near
such blue branches and echoes
such blurs that are part of
and all gone as simple and loving can go
to yes
where lines disappear.