Alchemy

Happiness
Floating slowly on the downtrodden grass,
Sodden with storms? The rage flash
Of loneliness, the acerbic swerve
Of a matinal, the clarion bell
On the bird fented stone. Walk
Through the folds of deliberative colors,
Uncreased and flying
Into the silver clappers of the sky, know
That all these make for a handful
Of rippling lakes;

Uncarved statues in the dawn?
In the evening, when the moon is whittled down
To a bone, picked clean by the carrion birds
Of thrill, and locked by a turn of grief:
In the long rows of the graves,
Who will see you?
In the strong groves of a haze
The violets bloom, wishing-full violets,
And the azure clods.

But not to worry of the trumpet:
This brass is gold.