Rapids By A. R. Ammons

Fall’s leaves are redder thanspring’s flowers, have no pollen,and also sometimes fly, as the windschools them out or down in shoalsor droves: though Ihave not been here long, I canlook up at the sky at night and tellhow things are likely to go forthe next hundred million years:the universe will probably not finda way to…

Elegy For A Jet Pilot By A. R. Ammons

The blast skimsover the stringof takeoff lightsandrelinquishingplace and timelofts toseparation:the plume, rosesliver, growsacross thehigh-lit eveningsky: by thisMays Landing creekshot pinecones,skinned huckleberrybush, laurelswaths definean unbelievablyparticular stop.