One day Mz N meets a woman
slightly horsefaced
hair a tangle

There’s a woman
walks through me
sits at the table

Winter. Late January
afternoon. Night falls fast.
You think I should know this

Ferns here ferns there
I dream of my newest friends                         
who soon subside   

That man over there
looking sidelong
as you sidelong

Something about what matters
   Breathes in the twilight blushing
         Everything here on the piers.

The way of free things unmatched she moved
expert of love but love more subtly tuned
than a watcher would expect from naive distance

And seven centuries later, you are born while somewhere,
another flood threatens.

It’s the willed trick of concentration
  that makes of these heat-heavy
bogged declivities —the graves of

He looked beneath the rock to find the god
that he had hidden there—that's Oscar
Wilde on Wordsworth's Sublime,