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There’s a record I’d like to find –

The kind my ears will keep upon the earth

While rising waves are twisting into reign

And spheres are whole in axle like in arc.

 

I see the erring density of woods;

A boggy moss climbs out and out,

The stream goes steady and about,

The cast of one leaf stacks against another. 

I follow to their ending bounds a sea

Where water moves the depths 

And stumbles through the limestone crags.

Here, where light has dwelt and stirred.

 

When we return, I’ll have to show you how

The people lived by vowels wrapt in soil;

But come now, there is time beneath an oak.

I’ll tell you something short about love,

About the boy who chased the open hawks.