Say that you arrive at a clearing—

Say that, this time, the clearing is not a field

alight—

Say that the clearing is not a brightness
         in the heart of the otherwise
         dark wood—

Say that copper beach, that calla lily,

         that hollyhock, that viola,
         that mangave, that queen
         of the night —

Say that without turning you turn
         to face it, the light-torn image
         of your life—

Say that you enter, dark as you are

when you were young and then
when you were no longer young­—

Say that you were not lost, the clearing being continuous

with what it opens—

Say that you are standing now in its center, in you
         there is a music rising you can’t
         quite hear, the little hairs of your arms
         dancing in their private weather—

Say that the velvet night, the moonless sight—

(night embers, crape myrtle,
         geranium, black coral bells)

Say that it seems to extend indefinitely
         in all directions, to sprawl
         across the tenses, what was, will be,
         would have been though
         when you move, it moves with
         and not around you. So here
         you are—

Say that the question is not, in the end,

         whether you deserve it—

         (what else, what else)

Say that you carry it—

Say that you carry it, finally,

past the end of what you know
         you are when you arrive—

(dark wind, nightshade, lion’s eye)