Long Nights

Ice, entire cakes of it. Crows feed on sand. So poor is this season the ground steals color from the tree-shadows. • Can it be that nothing is as far as here? Just look! How much past we have to cover this evening– • Come to think of it don't forget to pick off this self and that self along the way. Though that’s not right– you spit them out like pits. • If there is a partition between the outer and inner worlds, how is it that some water in me churns between the mountain ranges? How is it we are absorbed so easily by the ground— • Long nights for simple words. • Slant rhyme of current thinking and past thinking. A chewed over hour, late. Where the long ago past and the future come to settle scores. • Traveling and traveling, but so much interior unpicked over by the eyes. • Nothing is as far as here.