Last week I wrote a poem, this is the poem:


The Mirror and the Weather

How wind blows across the trees,
rows of song,
all over the floor in pieces.

A figure up at night
in a tent who knows what,
who knows.

Waves, waves, how it happens,
hair, hair, then hair
hear over hair now all howl.

Moths. It falls. It drifts and sleeps now.

This poem was not directly associated with a visit to Tacoma Art Museum where one display was landscape photography by Mary Randlett. I walked through and returned to a group on one wall and I thought - These I am rather especially fond of.

And then I read the copy - one photo appeared on the cover of a poetry book by Denise Levertov, and I am especially familiar with that photo, have looked at is peripherally many times.