Changing

I can ride a bike like
part of the wind, at twilight,
could conceivably
wither into cloudless

blazes of blue
the way the sky itself fades
into watery lee and lift, the billow
of sly and harrow

meeting and rafted, slowed
with the floral traffic
of tropical air, the water
of dreams, the milk of twilight

or moon dawn, change
in the pockets of the night,
of the clock, of the garden --
a slow relinquishment.

Work of the Left Hand
to TOC