Easy Passage
The green tree wavers in the rambling wind And shivers into stillness, into what Rambles within the wind and can be caught In sprays of form and blocks of shape and turns Of movement moving invisibly in the air. Herring gull, balanced on his elbows there, Frays out, each side, into the element He's weightless in and, motionless as a sign, Lets the sea pass beneath him. The long line
Of little clouds, of puffs and bulks of cloud, Trundling on the horizon's conveyor belt, Absconds into the blue and, where they melt And as they melt and if indeed they melt, Glazes of colour and kins of colour stain, Thicken and whiten, and are clouds again-- And depths of densities and fans of space be Block their constructions in—as they might Tree, gull or cloud and their observer, me.
NORMAN MaCCAI°
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