one of the earliest beginnings:
"a mood of quiet beauty"
the evening light was like honey in the trees
when you left me and walked to the end of the street
where the sunset abruptly ended.
the wedding-cake drawbridge lowered itself
to the fragile forget-me-not flower.
you climbed aboard.
burnt horizons suddenly paved with golden stones,
dreams i had, including suicide,
puff out the hot-air balloon now.
it is bursting, it is about to burst
with something invisible
just during the days.
we hear, and sometimes learn,
pressing so close.
and fetch the blood down, and things like that.
museums then became generous
they live in our breath.
- john ashbery (who has quite a magical way with words provoking exaltation exultation)
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