"It would be well perhaps if we were to spend more of our days and nights without any obstruction between us and the celestial bodies, if the poet did not speak so much from under a roof, or the saint dwell there so long."
- Thoreau
(I slept outside again last night)
This is part 4:
Whether or not I find
words for you, to tell myself who you are,
I shan't mistake you
for a tree to cling to. Let me speak of you
as of a river:
quick-gleaming, conjuring
little pyramids of light that pass
in laughter from braided ripple to ripple;
but pausing, dark
in pools where boughs
lean over;
but never
at a standstill --
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