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

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