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