Wading pool, crespertine, laather--
only waits the wind; Gypsy lather.

Whether laughter longs for water,
outward breathing in

Atlantic capillaries hearth sunk cold,
the smell of cedarwood

go back across the rising,
clean forest stuck pine.
any gripes i might have with this would probably boil down to differences in personal taste. i think maybe this could be distilled into something a bit more focused, and maybe it only seems unfocused for me because i am not used to the style, but i trust that everything here is intentional and controlled. the pacing and the diction are strong, as well as the images, but for me personally, i feel that it leaves me a bit unnourished.