The Body Is a Divining Rod

Cottonwood towering, pollendown snowing in the sun:

Broken gates and beyond, meadow vibrant with dock:

Sweet Ghost I had else though delusion, I saw how You

Open the Elysium gates no hand unlocks.

Watched nothing but streams over pebbles all that summer.

Fool! bent to light like the hazel twig's rod;

For I grew to know to idle so, thought-quiet, eye-wide, ends

Not straying by oneself but betraying one's Self to one's God.