Yeah no one can read the Atlantic anymore. I did like "From a Window" pretty well: In any truth but the truth of grieving, I saw a tree inside a tree Rise kaleidoscopically As if the leaves had livelier ghosts. I pressed my face as close To the pane as I could get To watch that fitful, fluent spirit That seemed a single being undefined Or countless beings of one mind Haul its strange cohesion Beyond the limits of my vision Over the house heavenwards. Of course I knew those leaves were birds. Of course that old tree stood Exactly as it had and would (But why should it seem fuller now?) And though a man’s mind might endow Even a tree with some excess Of life to which a man seems witness, That life is not the life of men. And that is where the joy came in. Of course, hubski still doesn't have intelligent formatting. But hey.Incurable and unbelieving