No sound disturbs
The cloud curled steeps of sea green pines
whose clinging oceanic thoughts
are freed, released from malted slopes.
Respired slow , the sallow spirals
herd to high, still, corrugations,
Their purse; a billion brooches
For their keep.
And, then a Raven
Barks its gloat across the drab pavilions
A dauntless hermit sculls away,
on myth buoyed strokes, to beat the bounds.
Carried from the pinioned ridge
away to secret monasteries.
Climbing from embroidered
oriental looms of Beech
An Autumn day in the Eifel region of Germany. The verse is really just selected field notes.