Mountain banks of fuchsia stained thunderclouds
parade by with trumpet and lightning, grand crescendo
to accompany gardens bursting with harmony in one
ineluctable song.
                            The chorus and refrain so simple,
it began with bluster of lambs roaring like lions, and now
subtle dandelions march with lamb’s ears. The land sings.
This is the source of song. Who can resist? Not bird, or soil,
or any living thing, and certainly not the sky that joyous
resounds with promises of only good things, as you
Spring stately progress to your final coda.

<it’s very hard to find info online about Chris — he died during before the net. Chris was a collagist, artist, died in his 30’s, never given the chance to grow like he was going to — his last works were break through, he started to create sections of rooms as if you had cut them out, lamps cut at the base that worked, wallpaper, pictures in frames cut in half, etc. etc. I couldn’t find any samples of his work, but there are some images on the web, please search at your leisure — if you know of any links please add them. Here’s a couple of links:
n page 146:
 his last work: