The wells of air pour down

Winds from the fourth quarter,

And at the first turning

Come cold for a farewell.

In the second season sunfall

Yellows a thin wash of air,

Then forecast the summer comes true,

Fruit forms, the tipping leaf

Turns in the fine heat, and

The wells of air pour down

Winds from the fourth quarter.

Not rehearsal, but alumnae.

As it was in the beginning,

Stones surface, boughs rot.

Prepare. Prepare. Nothing

Else? Drink these and wells

That pour, divide, and speak

From root-ache, blood-need,

Years-without-end-Eden.

And after? From mind, from men

Color, speed, dimension,

The wells of his offspring,

Pour down.