Parading

A certain kind of Eden holds us thrall.

Even the one vine that tendrils out alone
Even the one vine that tendrils out alone
Even the one vine that tendrils out alone
in time turns on its own impulse,
in time turns on its own impulse,
twisting back down its upward course
twisting back down its upward course
a strong and then a stronger rope,
a strong and then a stronger rope,
the greenest saddest strongest
the greenest saddest strongest
kind of hope. —Kay Ryan
kind of hope.
—Kay Ryan

atoms

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