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consciousness
in itself
of itself carrying
'the principle
of the actual' being
actual
itself ((but maybe this is a love
poem
Mary) ) nevertheless
neither
the power
of the self nor the racing
car nor the lilly
is sweet but this
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Veritas sequitur ...
In the small beauty of the forest
The wild deer bedding down—
That they are there!
Their eyes
Effortless, the soft lips
Nuzzle and the alien small teeth
Tear at the grass
The roots of it
Dangle from their mouths
Scattering earth in the strange woods.
They who are there.
Their paths
Nibbled thru the fields, the leaves that shade them
Hang in the distances
Of sun
The small nouns
Crying faith
In this in which the wild deer
Startle, and stare out.
Parked in the fields All night So many years ago, We saw A lake beside us When the moon rose. I remember Leaving that ancient car Together. I remember Standing in the white grass Beside it. We groped Our way together Downhill in the bright Incredible light Beginning to wonder Whether it could be lake Or fog We saw, our heads Ringing under the stars we walked To where it would have wet our feet Had it been water