It’s enough. To play with scarves in summer air
Is enough. The weaving and the waving
Of their colors in the fresh summer air
Is enough. There is no more to be waved
Or to be woven than what has already occurred.
No past is prologue when the moment’s all.
Look how brightly the colors wave and curve!
The summer air is here, and that is all.
The summer air is heavy in the mind,
The mind is old and full of dusty thoughts:
How this becomes that, how the child crawls into the man;
Colors wave and curve, and I calculate their sine.
–Ai! You cover me with a hundred scarves uncaught,
And the summer air is bright with omen.