This to be peace, they think beside the river
Being adapted well to expectation
And their wives’ mutiny at no achievement,

You will expect the light to come to hand 
        As birds to other men; you will demand 
(So gently that it seems a mere suggestion) 

Back to her own devices now she turns,
Watches the objects shadowed by their stillness;
The vase stands upright where the first light falls,

So, at the base of all we know
And think most ordered, there presides
Chance, the prime mover who provides

Difficult not to see significance
In any landscape we are charged to watch,
Impossible not to set all seasons there

I’m tired of lying here.
The mountain and the river are not bad.
Sometimes a bear, a boar, or a deer

Even the morning dreams of it

Bent over those torn envelopes or steaming
Papers those Cubist towers

I.
I will tell you. Maybe 
You’re leaning in the open 
Doorway of some Irish bar, 

It was I think in a small town in Ohio

I taped to the wall above my office desk the postcard
Of Klimt's painting called The Park

Home is helped into view a cluster
of first-reel iconographic
ships, much sunnier rays—