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Poem: Sunday Walk

Wonders are folded

into every corner of the earth

In a forest path this morning in the sun

I saw the hand of the wind

clean the trees of last night's rain

and then disappear

The shadowed meadows turned merry a moment

and then cold again in gloom

And the jays shot beautifully

across the woods and yelled

conceits to no good end

And I sit under blue heaven

with its big white ships

drifting as one to happier battles beyond my sight

I have always been too small for this

My head hurts a little

I can only hold my breath a minute and

expel it awkwardly

coughing in a field of embarrassed sunflowers

I can barely sit and bow my head

before a bad song trips through it in circles

But the Love of the world continuously passes over

everything amid its mysterious business

The wind is its train

and the trees and I and the birds

are ever in thrall

And the Love of the world passes and then all is quiet

And what has been blown awake?

What eye in me

opens for a moment against its spell,

longs for home,

and returns to sleep?

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