I
will
pass
on your compliments
to
Robert Dew when he next
glistens
in the grass
Some
Road Not Seen
robert
dew meets
robert
fog where
a
world
condenses
over a
verge
as
moonlight crinkles through
twigs
where woods are
lit
and clearly seen
into
Robert Dew’s
ghost
gleams his soft
drops
on trembling ferns
such
wet silvery words will
do for
now until
the
air’s inclinations zero in
on
Robert Frost’s crystal fur
a
perfect crink
of
crystal is
Robert Frost
a pure
white icy
assemblage
of
words
fallen
from a
gray
fur-heavy sky
now melting
on
the wet
poking-out
mollusc
of
my
tongue
