Not too soon, as late as the approach of whatever
Late year, you will feel a door opening in you and
You will enter the crisp clarity of early morning.
One after another your former lives, will depart,

Like freighters out on a shallow Lake Erie, along
With sorrow. And all the nations, cities, parks, back-
Yards, the fresh-water harbors assigned to your vista
Will come closer, ready then to be described better

Than they ever could be before. And you will know
You were never separate from us, suffering and pity
Joined us. And you will know, even if you once forgot
How we were all children and you will remember

How and why. For where you came from there was
No division into NO and YES and MAYBE, into
Was, and what will be. You were miserable, you
Used no more than a small fraction of the abundance

You received for your long journey. An instant from
Just then and from eons of long ago–a knife fight
In the half-way house, the painting of lush eyelashes
Before a mirror of bright aluminum, a gun-shot

At a theater, a clipper ship staving its sharp beak of
A hull against a reef–they dwell in you, waiting
For completion. And you knew always, that you’d
Tend to the vineyard, tying back the vines, as were

All of us living the same history, whether or not
We were aware enough of it all or not.

What are you looking for?