The little gal at the mid-left is just finishing a full-body shake!
Ducks, I know. . .
The Novel Begins Here
Sylvia decides to rewrite her journal,
beginning with the significant events
of a particular day in October she wishes to hide,
and asks herself if future scholars
will debate the differences in penmanship
from day to day, or lament the layer that is lost,
that shows up around the corners, fast-fading palimpsest,
and wonder which is the correct version,
for now there is reference only to the last
pomegranate clinging after all the leaves are gone,
a mile-and-a-half race on the turf, the favorite scratched,
footprints across the frosty glass, turning brown,
airline tickets received, destination left blank,
an ordinary day again, winter setting in.
The Long Night of Flying
Sixteen Rivers Press, 2006, page 27.
Here is a link to a post with a Tomas Transtromer poem called How The Late Autumn Novel Begins.
This is a wonderful sort of poem! Notice how there is only one period, at the end! Just keeps rushing on! I have loved this kind of poem even since I first heard this read. I've written one myself. And so should you. Another task!