Time has ceased here,
in an unquiet way;
There is no past,
but there is no future,
Presence but no present.
An anarchy of Time;
But a dream's foundation.
"Tomorrow I will be remembered";
a bird hovers:
In the tall grass something moves
A wind brushes light and shadow
through the long hair of the meadow,
Still wet underneath
And rich in webs and industry.
Down the stream flashes blue green thought;
Tangling wire hums so gently in the wake of wind and water,
Time stands still
Past, like flowers,
Then and next,
The warm headless body of a mouse falls from the sky
and hits the ground.