The eggshell of appearance split.

James Merrill

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Nor do I try to keep a garden, only
An avocado in a glass of water --
Roots pallid, gemmed with air. And later,

When the small gilt leaves have grown
Fleshy and green, I let them die, yes, yes,
And start another. I am earth's no less.

James Merrill

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Lost, is it, buried? One more missing piece?

But nothing's lost. Or else: all is translation
And every bit of us is lost in it
(Or found — I wander through the ruin of S
Now and then, wondering at the peacefulness)
And in that loss a self-effacing tree,
Color of context, imperceptibly
Rustling with its angel, turns the waste
To shade and fiber, milk and memory.

James Merrill

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The day is breaking someone else's heart.

James Merrill

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Beneath my incredulity
All at once is flowing
Joy, the flash of the unbaited hook --
Yes, yes, it fits, it's right, it had to be!
Intuition weightless and ongoing
Like stanzas in a book
Or golden scales in the melodic brook --

James Merrill

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