you have seen it growing.
The trees flee. their flight
sets the boulevards streaming. and you know:
he whom they flee is the one
you move toward. all your senses
sing him, as you stand at the window.
the trees’ blood rose. now you feel
it wants to sink back
into the source of everything. you thought
you could trust that power
when you plucked the fruit;
now it becomes a riddle again,
and you again a stranger.
where each thing stood.
now you must go out into your heart
as onto a vast plain. now
the immense loneliness begins.
the world from your senses like withered leaves.
it is what you have.
be earth now, and evensong.
be the ground lying under that sky.
be modest now, like a thing
ripened until it is real..."