There in the
curving trail of the locked ellipse
I was, full of
wonder placed sitting on the ground
Putting out one
hand to lean on as I turned around
Glimpsed, fluttering, a
tiny bird passed by
In its flight I saw:
First seen, the upward
part of thought: a bird
Then a whirring
of wings as simple things go exploring
Caught, waiting, held in high-flowing
expressways
For fast tracking thoughts
The singing of
things, which are in Another Place
The unravelling
centers where all my flying things go
Prickled, stinging, a tiny thorn beneath my hand
In its gifted pain I knew:
Second seen, the inward part
of thought: a thorn
Then a pulling of
weeds as hard things go deeper
Sad, breaking, yet glad in low-moving sightings
For slow piercing thoughts
The crying of things, which are deep within
me
The layered harvests where all my lying
things hide
There in the curving trail of the locked
ellipse
I was, full of questions placed far above
Putting out one wing to realign on as I
turned around
*
It was in being sad, at their first sighting that I was freed
For then came the knowledge that my thorn-weeds
Had their own place
Where they could
change in being transplanted
And there, not
frowned on were called flowers:
Trails of briar
and columbine, tangles of muddled thought
Mainly selfish,
but in their transplanting – transforming
And from there
the inward part of treasure:
The all-answering love-gold
