Explore "Cones" by Frank Stuart Flint on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
The blue mist of after-rain / fills all the trees; the sunlight gilds the tops / of the poplar spires, far off, / behind the houses.
Here a branch sways / and there / a sparrow twitters.
The curtain's hem, rose-embroidered, / flutters, and half reveals / a burnt-red chimney pot.
The quiet in the room / bears patiently / a footfall on the street.