from 'song' (p16)
i know the wood simply
the tree is a wreck of the ash of the watchfire
what i know that is not a stranger
was never in the mind of order. of the woods.
**
from 'V. Properties' (p93)
Black with the road's dusts,
the atmosphere, solid, on the ground
turns into a pool, the
ground's mirror,
and picks up the sky again.
**
from 'jacket' (p28)
Many of these poems attempt to make happen to words that which happens to lines in an optical illusion. Many of these poems have that kind of architecture of things which live in the sea. They are built without a base, beginning above the ordinary ground of the mind and ending there in illusion. Yet they are not illusions. They are real: because the poetic of all our languages has the more potential for concretion. It can be said that either these poems recognize their suspension so clearly, concretize their suspension so clearly, or from their suspension recognize their ground so clearly that the glare (regularity/clarity) of that vision has created a solid about itself such that chaos is the only ground.