In the End as the Beginning

And came at last to love

Nothing fair at all,

Exact or regional,

But rainbow curve of dove

And waterfall;

The spring of bough as bird

Partakes of sky again,

The interrupted pain

Of the sharp and half-heard

And sung again.

Nothing definitive more

Than can be felt as motion

Of face and folding ocean,

And all we hunger for

Without devotion,

In the end as the beginning

To love not what we are

But what we sense far

And afield spinning

Singular.

Structure

20 lines · 5 stanzas