This is the other season --
I approve of it.
It is a cool closing of green silence
in slow fathoms
over the shattered brain.
This is the strange season,
alien and beautiful,
when the mind slides down
into coral depths
and tempos of silver gills,
loved by old centuries.
This is the small season
that has one entrance only,
whose sun-starred door,
once passed through,
glimmers slowly into forever
and the exhausted water-treader
leans wholly into it at last.
p. 58
