At dawn, when the heart
      in its homespun freedom gasps
at the accurate aw of the crow,
     the lichens line the trees & stones
to write without limit in extravagant fonts:
       no split, splayed Ws, spare
Vs in Helvetica to Roman Times,
    some Cs in Cambria, the species race
    in Kabbalistic thought from syllable
to sense, EvernaUsnea, italic
                        From cracks in back
of the start of time where the arch
    of intention freed itself,
              love moved through the signs,
RamalinaFlavoparmeliaCandelaria concolor,
to write on fences in groups of cloud
     & there the burning soul will rest
             at one with the burning maker.
         Sit down with the gray-green world
     where a world will write itself, go on—
       you were not there when it began;
it can go on without you—