There's Nothing In The World For Which

He Speaks Truly Who Speaks The Shade.

The Heart Hid Still In The Dark, Hard As The Philosophers Stone.

The Poem Is Lonely. It Is Lonely And En Route. Its Author Stays With It. Does This Very Fact Not Place The Poem Already Here, At Its Inception, In The Encounter, In The Mystery Of Encounter?

Illegibility Of This World. All Things Twice Over. The Strong Clocks Justify The Splitting Hour, Hoarsely. You , Clamped Into Your Deepest Part, Climb Out Of Yourself For Ever.

Tall Poplars--human Beings Of This Earth!