Already, the moon. What wouldn’t come with such
A moon? Invisible stars foretell
The precious night. What wouldn’t come, as bees
Wear themselves out at the milk-sweet blooms in which
They’ll sleep? and in accidents of four and five,
The apple tree releases starving fruit?
(All night, from inside, fruit fall sounds like footfall.)

All Lansing apprehends the moon and feels
The lungworts whisper against each other;