The miscast seed in winter / when the last leaf
is withered / its green cloth vanished / and golden ornament eroded
/ the beauty of
a long-drawn voice ringing through a field, a zoophorus, of flowers.
could be an ugly tree, hoary & knobbed, sporiferous green
growth, branches naked of birds, sheds the fact that the ape is tree-dwelling,
whereas man moves on the earth without clinging to branches,
himself become a tree, in other words raising himself straight
up like a tree, and all the more beautiful for the correctness
delicate pink blossoms. Across the street, half-encased
in a rugose gray cocoon, a tree is birthing out of itself. There
is always something more gripping the earth.
Before I was born I disappeared
Existence is a riddle.
What is not here is not there.
A voice falling away