Hill Journey

The field-bound cattle, in the mirrors of their eyes,

Bear me up to the hunted hills and would

Follow me over the wall and the topmost rail

To hear the hillside wind go over the shed of pines

And walk in the acorn-fall on the runs of the deer.

I am lost above orchard and field, and leaves like apples

Are shaken by the wand of my hand down to a carpet of

light.

I make songs out of the notes of ripe berries;

I sit at the hallowed tables of unharvested stumps

And drink from the earthen cup of the blue-sky spring.

I walk the round roads of fallen trees through valleys of fern

And rest on islands of ledges above the waves of moss.

I read the revelations of the day

On the parchments of the silver birches

And time sits with me in the hammocks of stone.

I shall go down again to the valley of concern;

I shall return to the rage of change

But it is today that is forever and forever,

And I can hold the sun and the moment still

In the wink of my eyes.