Landscapes

By

Could we walk into landscalpes, I'd choose "June," By Inness; I'd be that figure to the right Wandering through the meadow, after noon, Towards the stand of willows, sifted light, To stretch out dreaming on an airy cloud Learning its silences -- or how to speak Language of willow, breeze brushed, half out loud So as not to stir the stillness at its peak Inness caught, that blurless summer day; Taught the wisdom of the clouds and trees Who never argue, I might stay and stay, Drifting back to Eden's emperies . . . We can not walk into them -- except how A landscape's shining through the window now.

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