84 Critical Quarterly, vol. 26, nos. 1 & 2

Two men stand by them in shining garments. He is not here, they say. He is risen. W h y seek ye the living among the dead? Tough-stemmed crocuses stir underfoot.

JOHN HOLLOWAY

Second thoughts Nothing improving, please, such as - the dank leafless coppices and the cold, or blank rain-bearing sky setting the leaved mud

in the deep ways, conceals the first bud

of radiant spring. No no. In all that tumble of future leafage, smelly polleny scumble, I simply trace quite as many signs

wire branches and their ink-nib lines.

So all things alternate? So we trace beautiful recurrences? Everything in place? Daisy-flowers, a summery kind of snow?

Much winter mist like summer haze? . . . No no.

Under such hurried patterns gather vast discontinuities that at the last leave us all ice or fire or dust or stone.

Red giant, supernova. So, leave all trim reflections quite alone:

Let us just watch this raincloud through the glass, or if it mists the window, let that pass while quiet talk, touching on many things,

that when a voice speaks placidly, it sings.

under drizzle

promising winter’s

Grapes, autumn florets?

displays the wisdom