.
Every day
I see or I hear
something
that more or less
kills me
with delight
that leaves me
like a needle.
in the hay stack
of light.
It is what I was born for—
to look, to listen,
to lose myself
inside this soft world—
to instruct myself
over and over
in joy
and acclamation.
Nor am I talking
about the exceptional,
the fearful, the dreadful
the very extravagant—
but of the ordinary,
the common, the very drab,
the daily presentations.
Oh, good scholar,
I say to myself,
how can you help
but grow wise
with such teachings
as these—
the untrimmable light
of the world,
the ocean’s shine,
the prayers that are made
out of grass?
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