This tree a harbor,
full of frail yellow fishers
constantly overturning, moored
for the summer and always
sailing out forever.
Tonight the ships are burning.
Freedom. Of all our souls from the burden of being As I watch, catching her ecstasy in writhing sea, Deep groans in the hull and a raging westerly.
--Luke Irwin
Also: A poem from Auden that seems to come out of my own memory. I think instantly of the Belz's yard. And summer.
Out on the lawn I lie in bed, Vega conspicuous overhead In the windless nights of June As congregated leaves complete Their day's activity; my feet Point to the rising moon...
Equal with colligues in a ring I sit on each calm evening Enchanted as the flowers The opening light draws out of hiding With all its gradual dove-like pleading, Its logic and its powers:
That later we, though parted then, May still recall these evenings when Fear gave his watch no look; The lion griefs loped from the shade And on our knees their muzzles laid, And death put down his book.
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