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To Ridgely
Torrence
On Last Looking into His 'Hesperides'
I often see flowers from a passing car
That
are gone before I can tell what they are.
I want
to get out of the train and go back
To see what they
were beside the track.
I name all the flowers I
am sure they weren't;
Not fireweed loving where woods
have burnt--
Not bluebells gracing a tunnel
mouth--
Not lupine living on sand and drouth.
Was something brushed across my mind
That no one on
earth will ever find?
Heaven gives it glimpses
only to those
Not in position to look too close.
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