Woods to Melbourne
Pine of the frost embered, with the setting Helios’
eye on it all, peeking through an altered telescope
on a sidewalk; the other, cones, needles
circumcised by the god’s moving to the south.
Here these alpines are flamed in summer,
and here, the summer’s yearlong. Moving gregariously
parallel on the sides both, like the shores
of an indefinite river, a train-less
railway track visiting eternity.
And when he returns back, home,
the usual path, and tilts to th’ other
way, this gilded, wind enlivened foliage
and the soiled-scarlet layer above the decomposing humus,
nourishing the perpetuity, will look like a forever.