Nothing turns to face us where we are.
\nStreams, meadows, everything apparent,
\nthe viscous leaves of Autumn, fire-fallow Spring,
\nit all occurs as if for us to witness,
\nthen burns to embers, no one left to prove it,
\nthe glow of distant stars that sail the void.<\/p>\n
No steed consents to ride across that open.
\nA lark’s song is slowly smothered out.
\nThe mute forest wall is sad and dumb,
\na mole’s path, trembling under branches.
\nWhat kind of Troy might you establish there?
\nWhat laws and tablets wrought for us to praise?<\/p>\n
What’s seen alone is understood alone;
\nconditions of perception aren’t perceived.
\nThat’s why you are, Creator, unattainable,
\nand all we’re left with are the tasks at hand:
\nto clear the snow, to sow, to feed, to harvest:
\nto live all winter long, and thank the summer.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Nothing turns to face us where we are. Streams, meadows, everything apparent, the viscous leaves of Autumn, fire-fallow Spring, it all occurs as if for us to witness, then burns to embers, no one left to prove it, the glow … Continue reading