Like the blossom of the cherry tree unfolding from its good 
 
offices light falls out of spring green within the lung an unclasping 
                                which runs under water:  one hears singing in the silt.
 
Humble lectors in a labor of notice:  the skin goes 
                                                   brown and blush and earthly—
 
                                                            and wishes oh be and
                                     let not:  not—,  yet:  no hindering.
 
I cannot choose my treasure:  Thou shalt—and thou 
                           Shalt—
                                          In the long grass and scrub I am shoring
 
My portion and loose papers.  Settling raw.  Shambling into sunken                           
                          traceries.   And splint.