Three Poems

The Abruzzi

Through that window, when the lake was silver
Coils, no hope to walk there for lack of ice,
Just one invoilable lynx-purr,
Nestled by the cedar then strung out to the heat.
Invisible to the dusk's mountains, not to be seen
Again. An altitude up there, but I cannot say
We walked it, not at all, but one lynx
Walked out there that day under the high-
Summer forest which lent its paths down like cards.
Not a rose in sight, but the wolf in its cage
Photographed by a hundred people each day
Into an undernourished breathless lope.
Lynx's hidden country. Dried harvest.
They left fruit by the cedars and found rest.


Dungeness
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