(it's also brand-new-ish, so other suggestions are welcome)
Corinne beneath the willow dressed
In yellow like the sun above
The cirrus clouds.
Imaginant with wild ideas,
She clarinets, chasses, and whirls—
A girl apart
From others, gauzily concealed
By fountains of frosted green leaves.
The wind-songs rise
Into the slouching boughs—fireflies
Of quarter-notes. Corinne—the friend
The lover, soft and young, of brutes
And vagabonds. The willow waves
In time with music unheard-of
Since time began—the billioned years,
so long ago.
She goes. She goes. Around the tree,
Corinne, her clarinet, her dress
Chiffoned by wild
Ideas and sun.