Rock reproduces rock
In miniature
On rock

A door: 
             PER L’UNIVERSO 
                        is what it says 

Ranges
              of clinker heaps
                           go orange now:

Reading this, you are waiting for the curtain
        To go up on a glade, vistaed valley
Or colonnade of lath. Yet you are not here

signal the presence of a river. 
A side road leads us on— 
parched grass, a rock horizon— 

The sun flung out at the foot of the tree
A perfect shadow on snow: we found that we
Were suddenly walking through this replica,

The limbs of the giant spruce that leans
  So close to the house, have formed
A kind of stair, a walkway

The child floats out his Indian cry
Across the river. Where did the Mohawks go to?
It arrives with the breath of mudflats as we pass by

I remember you with your loaf of Italian bread

In your mature years after the promised farm
The photo left in your innocence of knickers

A man like snow in Paris beautiful machine
Riding into the stars
A world of Michaels