WEBVTT

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Want to read one more
poem from that book.

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It's the final poem
in it and it's a--

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I want to make it
at least to link

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with the prose, a couple
of prose pieces and poems

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that have not yet been
collected in books.

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It's called Gift.

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I have to trust what
was given to me if I

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am to trust anything.

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It led the stars over
the shadowless mountain.

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What does it not remember
in its night and silence?

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What does it not hope knowing
itself no child of time?

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What did it not begin,
what will it not end?

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I have to hold it up in my hands
as my ribs hold up my heart.

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I have to let it open
its wings and fly

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among the gifts of the unknown.

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Again in the mountain I
have to turn to the morning.

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I must be led by what was given
to me as streams are led by it,

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and braiding flights of
birds, the groupings of veins,

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the learning of plants, the
thankful days breath by breath.

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I called with nameless one or
invisible untouchable, free.

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I am nameless, I am
divided, I am invisible,

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I am untouchable, and empty.

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Nomad live with me.

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Be my eyes, my
tongue and my hands,

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my sleep and my rising out
of chaos, come and be given.

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