The word of a snail on the plate of a leaf?
It is not mine. Do not accept it.
Acetic acid in a sealed tin?
Do not accept it. It is not genuine.
A ring of gold with the sun in it?
Lies. Lies and a grief.
Frost on a leaf, the immaculate
Cauldron, talking and crackling
All to itself on the top of each
Of nine black Alps.
A disturbance in mirrors,
The sea shattering its grey one —-
Love, love, my season.
Good things are often disguised or (‘courierd’) under a negative guise (‘crackling… cauldron’) or as hard to get to (‘on the top of each of the nine black alps’). Whereas things that seem too good to be true (‘a ring of gold with the sun in it’) often cannot be trusted (‘lies and grief’). Sometimes the most beautiful aspects of life are disguised (like a ‘grey.. sea’). But if you look for the beauty in reality (or in all ‘seasons’), you will find it (‘love’)