but we tire of spirit sight

striving always for elsewhere as we are

so much among phenomena God

loses luster where we are local only inured

to detail starting small with grasses

flowers then trees we don't know nor rocks

days to recite the names of them all

seems heaven enough to us because what is

language that “categories of thought

embodied in individual living forms” thread through us

& things equally –matter a sidereal charity

& doesn't it bract doesn't it sepal & send seed splitting sheath

into soil doesn't our flesh the very fossils tremble bedrock