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Michael Haslam, from A Cure for Woodness

First Forest Tarn Epiphany

The surface ghost in person disappears
as elf-shine off a forest tarn in conifer;
the mountain lakelet brilliance fades from firs
and water. Fire of bright mentality,
the silver sense of lucence, dance enticement
tarnishes and vanishes. An airy glitter
of sensation, momentary beauty implantation,
rises and expires evaporation to the skies, just as
Eternity perpetually dies in pine.
A slender flame of fire that flowered up the spine
retires. A light-blaze of the furze subsides.
A peaceful grace of haze, a drift of breeze
across the fellside trees ensues.
A few epiphanies, as proved in time, are prized.
Surface evaporates. The rain relents.
The sun returns to shaft the rising steam.
Reflective coils unwind between the pines.
The spell is bound to shine and calm.
The spectre of a witness drops its qualms.
It is a charm of stillness, mist and light,
a mirrored wetness, image of a present absence
lasts for life. I fancy it recalled intensely
at my last demise.