I had the idea that I would go from there
to another little short lyric and then
a longer poem about the natural world.
"Who were you to be exalted by the Earth?
Horned larks singing in the lupin bush,
the ospreys cambered wing?
In childhood, my sister and I had tea parties.
We set out cups and flowers--
that we set out cups and saucers,
picked flowers sometimes mauled by our hardened fists
and scattered them across the table.
Then we made gestures of pouring,
urged on our imaginary guests gestures of drinking.
Then I went through a period, it lasted about 50 years,
which required actual cookies and actual tea.
But you can do without tea and cookies,
nor is ritual so compelling as it once
was, which implies mastery of an ideal form.
There is probably a right spirit in which to read Buddhist
texts, but I don't have it.
One that the hungry self could imagine a renunciation
superior to the self.
This afternoon at the beach, a blue-backed swallow
fanned its wings and reared up a second,
like a hawk, then glided off.
It glided off.
Who are you to be happy or unhappy on the Earth?"