Spring Image

the vase has been broken, the fountain dry,

the villa empty, since an autumn

older than years ago.

No swallow nests where swallows flew,

or skull-grub genocide in the teeming darkness.

Eyes, or mouths of frog, pose

skyward the veiled response

That, where the jetty ends, begins,

ends, where the jetty begins.

Dry bait, desolate on the mirror,

sheers no flicker for the wrist of fear,

for pulseless marble, graven hair,

the self-embalming cowl, granite

willow, weeping

stone torrents on stone lids,

sealing a spring of stone,

jet image of the streaming jet.