| From this cloud, look!, which has so wildly covered the star that just now shone there--(and from me), [...] from me, Lord, and from all of this, to make one single Thing; from me and the slow breathing with which the flock, penned in the fold at dusk, endures the great dark absence of the world--, from me and every candle flickering in the dimness of the many houses, Lord: to make one Thing; from strangers, for I know no one here, Lord, and from me, from me, to make one Thing; from sleepers in these houses, from old men left alone at the asylum who cough in bed, importantly, from children drunk with sleep upon the breasts of strangers, from so much that is uncertain and from me, from me alone and from what I do not know, to make the Thing, Lord Lord Lord, the Thing which, earthly and cosmic, like a meteor gathers within its heaviness no more than the sum of flight: and weighs nothing but arrival. |