Largo

Now the rain

Now the seams       put in evening

Now the tree       seeming shakes out    
of felt      unfolds cleanly

If in falling       rain names what it touches

If beneath the tree      a dry radius describes
form      steps forward       wearing its suit        of summer’s dust

A quietus      

My ear on your chest         where rest hems breath with thread
until      being is everywhere       an edge        a cloth’s

periphery pinned with rocks     & we under    

look up      dry out the light       turn
sleep to costume        Now the sleeves

Now clean buttons     to shut our eyes      

Now our each seam gleams