Everything is still here

[kindofahippy]

Everything is still here

as I exhale, unfurling worries
as wisps of silk that purl
and shimmer in puddled moonlight,
each breathed into hindsight
by the first stars I ever saw.

This stanza sets the emotion of the poem, a relaxed reverie on a soft and snowy day. L3 has the image of silk clothes out on a clothesline under the moon. L4 and five present a slightly confusing metaphor, are you saying that just seeing the stars brings back memories?

A frozen one third acre of silence "quiet" would be a softer-sounding word
amplifies echoes of innocence
that rustle in the briars This was jarring to me, until I read the next lines. Echoes don't rustle.
and sloe bushes, as I did
when still small enough
to evade their barbs.

In stanza two, are you implying that the first stars you ever saw were in this frozen one third acre, and if so, does the logical connection the following stanzas have mean that all of these activities take place at night? If this is not the intended reading, perhaps a refrain between S1 and S2 would help change the tone to day.

Tumbling from ivy clad banks If S2 is meant to be directly followed by this action, adding "Then" as the first word would enforce that.
I'd lop the heads of daffodils
we planted one October. "one fall evening" would resonate with the "sleeping bulbs" of the next stanza
Planting patience you called it;
Digging the past
to bury the future. I am also confused by this. Do you mean past hard work for a secure future? "bury the future" sounds like regret for a possible future action.

I cannot tell if the protagonist was tumbling directly from the sloe bushes on ivy clad banks or if the two events take place at different times. If S3 was not supposed to be directly following S2, a refrain for the time change would be nice.

Youthful unkempt clouds of daisies Nice imagery of a field in bloom
blanket the deep sleeping bulbs
and I recall scepticism skepticism
of a promised blossoming;
I know better now
as you did then.

A salt and sugar crust I'm wracking my brain to understand this. What is that shed made of? Salt and pepper would be the obvious, but salt and sugar? Is it limestone? Ordinary gray stone, I don't see sugar in that.
coats the stone garden shed
where I served out my sentences
among pitch forks and pick axes; oh, beautiful sonic shift between pitch and pick!
Discipline and consequence
cemented within its walls.

The old stooped chestnut stands stoic "idle" for such a gentle poem
flecked with strands of snow.
He's outgrown my treehouse
and stopped dropping conkers
since I stopped stringing them.
"...needs felling..." you noted recently.

I won't hear of it, the sapling can wait. What sapling, I thought this was regarding the ancient chestnut?

The dull beat of unseen swans
arrowing across Farnhnam field
and plashing the inky floodwater
drums the reflection of a forgotten question reflection is needless filler, the line has the same effect without it and it interrupts the sense of sound here
of departures and transience.

"Where do they go Dad?"
"You'll follow to find out in your own time."

Roused by the door handle's cold click The tone of this line is darker than the rest of the poem. "Cold clink" sounds like a hated person is entering the room.
and warm escaping clinks,
I turn on the threshold
pausing to inhale,
absorbing stillness.
Everything is still here.