You and It
Think what you like, but
It is really the same. Oh
You can walk around on it
All right and, watching the speed
With which it falls back, fool
Yourself into thinking it changes,
Or, standing with your head
On it, think it above you,
With all the grass of summer
Hanging down, mindless
Birds at your feet, your blood
Rushing up to meet your shadow.
But move, and only the angle
It is regarded from changes.
Turn up the stones, and they
Reveal what has always been
Uppermost. Put them back?
And you are where you started.
You could go on for years
And never get close at all
To the obvious bottom of it.
A slave to a number of fictions,
You would learn of only your own
Deep-seated simplicity.
Perhaps, when you are tired,
You will stretch out on what
Can be thought its own level.
And, closing your eyes at last,
Catching the merest fraction
Of sleep, you will know what I mean.
Mark Strand
✌🏻
= new reply since forum marked as read
