(Poem #313 on new numbering scheme)
In summer's light concrete turns white; the city might fade into smoke. Ants feel no mirth: the grains of earth have their own worth; trails turn baroque. So as time goes, a full moon glows; a damp wind flows. Then the clouds broke.
– this is a Welsh form called rhupunt. I’m not sure I like it – the rhyme scheme is pretty demanding and with the short lines, it ends up too singsongy.