Watching

 Between this wooden land

Of stork trees stand

The wiley scuffs of dancing tufts

That play in diffuse light like

Spiked pineapple tops

The lesions of sore silver, shimmering lakes

Stretches of straits and waterscapes

Gaping wide gates that ask their

gormless question why

To their empty fields

Their loveless lovers

Who steal like deer in shadows

Before the dawn has struck

And the sun is still a stuck

Orange yolk yet to break

And spill its golden liquor down

Upon the valley

Where the green king river snakes

And hedges blaze in fires before

The eyes of wood anemones

Who listen in their disguise

Those beautiful flower spies