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All the leafiness of a thousand miles
is felt in the heart, a change that has started.
The packing up of things, the loading of cars,
the farther and farther darkening dark.

And it’s hard to know, now, where we should go.
And where will we be, before the next season?
Of evenings and days we can hardly say.
From which will we flower?
Brightly from the buildings, now.

Will the lifting of a window let the Spirit in,
and then we begin to vividly live?
With lakes of orange, seas of green, cadmium scenes?
And walking fleetly through a dream,
I will hear everything you mean,
I will see everything you mean.

And it’s hard to know, now, where we should go.
And where will we be, before the next season?
Of evenings and days we can hardly say.
From which will we flower?
Brightly from the buildings now.

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