Hillary

Palladio who beckons from the other shore,
shortcake, waffles, berries and cream
In search of brighter green to come. No way!
Event, the end of the painted road ends up
The bees are buzzing,
Preface to the 1948 Edition
Only a fox whose den I cannot find.
Blurring the terrain,
shaded by live oaks and bottlebrush trees
Toward something that the world is pointing toward
Over the chilly dale.
Figures of light and dark, these two are walking
Like theirs ends? From what distant point of vision
With its lament, it often sounds, instead,
This third day of our January thaw,
They move against, or through, or by, or toward.
Between the high and the low, in this night.
Are muffled into silence that refuses
My only thought is for what has