Look, look, there is an angel in the fishpond,
It wakes its yellow wings above the water;
Or say the naked moon came down to bathe here
And dipped her toe in weeds and so we caught her;
Or say the sun fell in and sprang up yellow,
Or say that mud's in flower today – no matter:
All images and fancies coalesce and cancel
In mystery at last; it is an angel,
And moves its yellow wings above the water.