The Water Stair

Under cypresses, ilexes, myrtles, within
Granite edges, or slipped over broad-ended stairs,
Is a moving of water, and large tranquil squares

Stain its umber and gold with a green lily skin.

No splash, just a ripple which jars the smooth air
Into damp undulations. Remote and suspended
Winds pause in the trees, and the shadows are blended

With gleams as of moonlight entangling drowned hair.

Steps -- steps -- phantom footsteps. They shuffle and blur
And crowd the wide stairs with an odd, timid stir

Thinly teasing the sense where there's nothing to hear.

Crimson heels, silver clocks, the shock of them whines

With the shrillness of flutes in the thick atmosphere.
Purple flutes fading silver and rose through the pines.

Liquid lap of old water, and I am confused
With the scent of crushed violets my feet have bruised.