What you look hard at seems to look hard at you,
hence the true and the false instress of nature.
      G. M. Hopkins

Lord hasten)  the sky’s rough clusters
stop my eye against the blue)  there

the sky’s pearled and pulleyed light)  the fettered
song in cloud’s throttled crack)  roils the lake’s

stilled silts)  crest and crash of waves throw
the bank in)  throes of scattered stones

against the green)  quakes the clash
I hear)  the forest timber splinter branches

break and roots uproot)  the sight cleaves
the breath’s hitched)  rhythms bend

the boughs in wind’s howl)  the chime
of color the floret cloaks is no sound)  I know

or see)  these jointed sights disjointed even
salvage them as I sing you Lord)  hasten