Three Scenes

I see outstretched the filigrees of day,
Like lace unbolted by a bungling clerk.
Ten thousand ragged clumps in loose array,
The clouds are Heaven's whimsicalest work.

O writhing one, Leviathan, the foe
That troubles Israel, that casts up waves,
And bellows spume, and spoils the celadon.
You shall forever sink to drowning down.

Two slender trees entwine in rooted dance
To rhythms of the years. They seem, though each
Blinks never once or twice to break the trance,
Enraptured lovers sharing windblown speech.