Spaces of the field, the cry, the play,
spaces of the dot stars or crumbs narrowly

imposs
                          impass

of blue eyed grasses spikey potes own power

::

             deep blue winks sweetgrass
in which low down eyebright

                        grounds eyelight splintered
                                   thin white-blue with dark

blue lines up

such raggedy performances of words

::

of words in rags

such as "moonlight"
or "small applit bite" (green)

shift your eyes, for a second and they're lost, just streaks
down the page, and they all become foreign, even the simplest.

::

Yet the simplest also return, at odd moments
Flecks of the past
thinking of their houses now

and shame of an event there

just remembering their name.