Awe

 

It is beyond me to make a sign unto it

I am without hands

And my mouth a clod.

Yet I turn with it endlessly through eons of stars.

It knows me and signs to me soundlessly

That stones

Feel the wheel’s crush and shout out

In another universe;

That the eagle grows small in the sky and his shrinkage

Flies large through other veils;

That the trapped mouse with a broken neck

Turns tail and scampers beyond time.

It is beyond me to make a sign unto it.

I am without hands

And my mouth a clod

Though my soul whimpers and strains with it.

 

October 27, 1964