Locomotion

He bites beneath gold
A terrible beauty
This is a fin de siècle
The ground marks hidden remains
An inner vagueness.

Resist first with structures
Bones and nerve ends alike
Measure and time
With flow with warmth.
Cover then remove excess

Oscillations beneath
Eyesight
A skylight window.

She turns the green lands
Into gems
She shoots with her eye
Autumn crocus already gone
But cocksfoot and meadow cranesbill
Under her rigour.

He resolves
To suspend spheres
Before they precipitate in eyes
And blue there beyond belief there
Into a star field.

Terrible tremble of colours littered
On a leaf green sheet
Splintered with purples and gold.