To Put One Brick Upon Another, Add

My Mother, Who Hates Thunderstorms, Holds Up Each Summer Day And Shakes It Out Suspiciously, Lest Swarms Of Grape-dark Clouds Are Lurking There.

Dear, I Can't Write, It's All A Fantasy: A Kind Of Circling Obsession.

But O, Photography! As No Art Is, Faithful And Disappointing!

The Trees Are Coming Into Leaf Like Something Almost Being Said.

Parting Is A Training Streamer,lingering Like Leaves In Autumn.