Look with me at what we call, Substantial or ephemeral, All of Earth, where we must end, And all of sky's over-awning All: 5 Sense the sub-stratum and the theme Dawning out of sincerer dream. Note how dark must always end, How Earth's quickened sharps of light Coalesce by pixels until we see 10 Lightly lightninged twig-ends, Dew-draped, shiver and invite Greater light, or light's dark reverse The odor of more crowded trees Blends with the musk of night. 15 I sort my knowledge into verbs: I did, I can, I do, I can't. And other more what-ifs I list: I shall, I wish, I shan't, I want. And a thousand thousand others 20 Unvoiced, unheard. All that puts a soul at ease Enough to stammer and confess The inconvenient, the gulped absurd, Or to think a something mystic 25 Rather too simplistic, Brings the daunting Earth to words, And helps to carry, as you guess, Our everything to is. I kept a million themes beside my bed 30 In a rosewood box with a turtle, With one working tin hinge beside The turtle decaled spread-eagled; I left the springed hinge untried, And added blanks to the map 35 On the warm rosewood back Of the rose-boned wooden turtle. It was better, or so I deemed, To live unknowing and to dream Than know every meaning's means. 40 I kept the box beside me a thousand days, An indian symbol of the Earth, Unopened save as a question may Discover unbidden worth, The way a kiss becomes a question, 45 A new-burned feeling without borders, A meeting, this meeting, -here,- Solemnly together without a seam In loving and in waking dream A part or portion 50 Of the natural order, Opening and answerless, In a realness of air.
From the collection "The Timid Leaper"
Written by Gregg Glory [Gregg G. Brown]
More information available on gregglory.com.