And that leads right into one that I can say by heart
but I'll just have my book open in case.
Maybe you know this one.
It was written later, but it's a harking
back to this time of perfection, which you all have felt.
"If I could only live at the pitch that is near madness when
everything is as it was in my childhood
violent, vivid, and of infinite possibility
that the sun and the moon broke over my head.
Then I cast time out of the trees and fields,
then I stood immaculate in the ego,
then I eyed the world with all delight,
reality was the perfection of my sight.
And time has big handles on the hands, fields and trees a way
of being themselves.
I saw battalions of the race of mankind standing stolid,
demanding a moral answer.
I gave the moral answer and I died
and into a realm of complexity came
where nothing is possible but necessity
and the truth wailing there like a red babe."