Bucolic I

Tityrus lounges in the shade,/Bees lullaby the sleepy glade,/The reed sings soft, soft as the grass—/Then Meliboeus comes to pass...

words

words/echo with the ghosts/of almost wholly-lost/worlds...

Experience

Poetry deepens/As life lengthens...

Reel

[frame by frame]/I have pieced you together from glimpses...

Portmarnock height

Now what is cloud and what is hill?/What’s star and what is streetlight?...