So much depends
upon

the eye's seeing

take the poem
of the eye
and place it there
before the eye
again,
a thing to be
reckoned

the mind moves
close,
with it,
the epistemology
of significance,
fastidious old man
of the brain
shabby waistcoat
worn buttons
rusty wheel
barrow
rummaging among
lines:

the clean

pit of a blue
plumb

the broken

pieces of a green
bottle

Pasture
_______________

Cows are moving
near the fence
faces white as
Kabuki

their eyes are dull
with much grass
and too many
long days

one, closest the
barbed fence,
lifts a heavy face-
something just over
the edge
beyond the present patch
of clover
compels that mask
toward a new gesture

the head lumbers higher
clearing the top
strand of wire
loose hide draped
across the barbs
tongue out
reaching
for a spot of green

only at the close
of the drama
will these players leave
this stage:
the fence is sure
though it bends
like the strings
of a Japanese
guitar