Parallel Advances

It is smaller here than
what comes next
because what I love
flowers actually
as if much deferred
much fixed up
ready to pick up
move mountains.

Suppose it is small
a bend to the orchid
a single one, miles of
smooth white
what is alive.
Tread lightly upon
what is yours, nor mine,
not earth, nor stone

But a river is a kind
of torpor, as it crosses
a town lit all night
askew shadows bright
a party kind of feeling,
not a figure for