Alders, their roots’ snarl in marshy soil.
Furtive roads, all summer dust, past
still ponds—a miniature vista

              I had a way with dirt, loved
—flying over Tucson, Albuquerque, Boulder—
              to see it mounded, shrugged

There is finitude in ice and icy finitude
in public realms. The of-a-pieceness of it. It
maddened me, I wanted life to shatter. Glitter

A wanderer in a pair of ten-league boots,
with a faithful servant blessed by second sight, 
          I cross a romantic moor