About the Last Time
I was Bucked by Beauty  

one am moondial shadows
from trees down upon glacial 

blue silence of january snow

was hardly thought then
and the remembrance 

slips off from boughs now

of dark simplicity denuded
with calm brevity receding 

upon standstill white itself

where stolid fluidity holds
to no pattern and rotating 

memory can learn this notion  

of quality gestured in its own
fashion never more than some 

terms allowing it to be here