Crystal

Against which we have been projected? What . . .
Through the back of the picture at the patch of white
Seized from creation by nonentity,
and preening, dancing on the basepaths,
I've drifted somewhat from the distant heart
A rabbit carcass in its stiffened fur.
For any part of them we can make out
With a hand freed from weight,
And up there I cannot tell if it is still
Where, as I discover as I go through
Chose to walk out of it, they'd have to pass
Of observation lying on the ground
Close at the end of distance the two Chose
A frame of glided twilight≈I
In the woods, close by,
In search of brighter green to come. No way!
Deep in the fog that quenches every ray,
More beautiful than anything in this world.
A pallid yellow lingers