And this is a sort of elegy for Robert Creeley, the poet who
died a couple of years back.
"Framing"-- "What you won't see today, Juniper's tough skin.
The rolling hammocks have grown syntax, tassels and bells,
for careless wings to be among, the tic in articulation.
The present is cupped by a small effort of focus,
its muscular surround.
You're left out."