On the path to the river, nature’s rarest colors: cadmium. Blue that once meant holiness. White here stands for cool observation: telephone wires ruled low across the tree line, steeple a shard or tooth investigating heaven. Why do you study so slowly and pray so fast? A young maple lets loose a chord of leaves. Opening notes of autumn: step over the waste of wild apples softening in bluestem, take what’s still clinging, its unexpected sugar. Once tame-seeds spun far from cultivation. Each smooth stone a standing prayer water pronounces daily, counts coin-like: who by who by who. Multiplies by our likely endings: wandering by sword by beast by thirst. Across the eye, concentrations of light’s labor—black eyed Susan, cardinal—and its diffusions: blurred faces of trees, family of partridges. In winter, these materials in relief: fresco of refuse, rooftops bowed with snow and unasked questions. To ask forgiveness, I trace my outline of soot and cheap fabric, argument and salt, give away what I can.