The World Below The Window
by W.J.S.
The geraniums I left last night on the windowsill,
To the best of my knowledge now, are out there still,
And will be there as long as I think they will.
And will be there as long as I think that I
Can throw the window open on the sky,
A touch of geranium pink in the tail of my eye;
As long as I think I see, past leaves green-growing,
Barges moving down a river, water flowing,
Fulfillment in the thought of thought outgoing,
Fulfillment in the sight of sight replying,
Of sound in the sound of small birds southward flying,
In life life-giving, and in death undying.
To the best of my knowledge now, are out there still,
And will be there as long as I think they will.
And will be there as long as I think that I
Can throw the window open on the sky,
A touch of geranium pink in the tail of my eye;
As long as I think I see, past leaves green-growing,
Barges moving down a river, water flowing,
Fulfillment in the thought of thought outgoing,
Fulfillment in the sight of sight replying,
Of sound in the sound of small birds southward flying,
In life life-giving, and in death undying.
~
~
from Still
by A.R.
I said I will find what is lowly
and put the roots of my identity
down there:
each day I'll wake up
and find the lowly nearby,
a handy focus and reminder,
a ready measure of my significance,
the voice by which I would be heard,
the wills, the kinds of selfishness
I could
freely adopt as my own:
...
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