There shall come faint light
and a passage of little winds out of the west
between the rose and lavender verticals of the city
the uneasy souls of men arrange themselves
on crowded street car platforms
Thought wanders like goose-crossed smoke.
I shall take me away to a place
of lonely birds
of hawk and heron
and of silent owls
hushed with the stillness
of black tarns
and marshes always twilit
for I am grown weary
of this procession
of faces from off Gothic tombs
and you will understand
for you must know
the mirrored image
of a gray woodland
that breaks with silver circles
spreading
from the one distended leg
of a meditative white crane.
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