it’s all part

of life’s rich pageantry, you know--
enclades of spring rived
as spring peepers conspire
choirs before cricketeers re-own
this windless wood--
as the moonless moon (yes,
i went there, just now, here)
new and dark repatterns stars
dim and old, bright and forlorn--

i cigarette upon the porch--
breathe an elegy of the formless
given form in fume, gone--
i forget what i am thinking as i
think it.