it is the beauty of the moving immaculate
crystal, dispersed, the daffodil now translucent;
earth again silver and again yellow transfusion;
clean white peroxide of specter’s mechanics
peaceful disavowal of an acedia of eternity.
not the plain mind, so adamant-slow to improve.
that which steadies without the unchanging hour:
the slow cedars, the soup kitchen, the -401 and war
of heart; which hasn’t been refused but always meant;
wrinkled hands and still clocks now seem well spent―
confront it.