Far from turbine exhales at the airport,
The buzz of city buses, the clang of pot
Against pot, in some remote serene place
A dancing worm revels in dirt and God.

Within a cascade one must hear
The one note fall, a shedded tear
From the mountain’s secret heart,
And there let every care depart.

In the open wind hummingbirds dart
Above the polished stones that turn
A mountain into art;
Seismic force and time itself they spurn.

You must see the woods at midnight,
There slugs sing in the wet grass;
Come, come and sing with me, cast
Away everything, and dance the dawn-light.

We shall wear vine-leaves in that land,
Elsewhere among the eucalyptus
We shall wake the mountains and stand
As halos crown them and the dews caress.

The streets are empty, the breeze still cool,
The gray hood of morning turning blue:
A swallow glances into my window
Perhaps to nest; we shall know.


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