THE CREATION OF THE UNIVERSE
Make no mistake, The darkness
Will come to the perfect world.
These songs are but the wings that carry
Us into those green and breezy hills.
The red deer move on the top
Of the hills. Their shadows are
Bright yellow and look like flame.
You won’t find anyone if you climb
Up past the house and the barn,
Where the cabbage has been planted.
It looks like a bouquet for giants,
But purple with leaves big as
An adagio lost on a plain
Or a field of ice. We, yes, we, can
See you even there. See the sun
Is coming even at this hour to take
Itself from the tops of waves,
Huge sheets of light full from the
Leaves of trees. We wait by the camp
Fire, telling stories.