landscape and character

So there are problems
	    I have settled early, about which
        I cannot be judged:
        		the long faced monk
	    in the season when bees crawl
and he is alone. Whether 
	        I open the door.
There is a science of goodbye.

	        Colored shirts on the line,
	        		summer expired in the afternoon.
The scuffed up children's noises
barely carry through			evening
			    when the burning bush goes up
		  and the palings of broken fences
		  	    along the river
		  	           lie down in sand.

The East Village Poetry Web
Forrest Gander