Raindrops fall into the
Track of an old pathway,
Where pools of water
The colour of wheat
Accommodate them. Fall,
Softbodies and clarity!
Our earth is of a kind.
You cannot be certain
That the mobile of heaven
Hold or that love will
Save but certain that
The earth is all for you,
Where you find your end
And blow to fragments.
I have seen them hold,
And still cannot attest.
The quiet love that calls
Their slightness down
Is sure. And yet, no more.
The earth is good tonight
In its solitary music.
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