Now wind torments the field, br turning the white surface back br on itself, back and back on itself, br like an animal licking a wound. br br Nothing but white--the air, the light; br only one brown milkweed pod br bobbing in the gully, smallest br brown boat on the immense tide. br br A single green sprouting thing br would restore me. . . . br br Then think of the tall delphinium, br swaying, or the bee when it comes br to the tongue of the burgundy lily.