OPTIONAL POETRY

I have a shadow inside like bottled-up smoke and this– husks of grapes, eleven summers, oaked– can conjure it up– a caution. By the lake today the crows were swarming, the last of the maple leaves afloat on the lawn, like scarlet junks, and at China Harbor, an empty banquet room backlit by bay windows, with a hundred empty chairs– negative capability, like Keats said, to receive the world, concavity, the capacity for being contained in the empty room, […]