As distance were itself
a state unknown
As distance were itself a state
the roads keep to the body of the plain,
progressing day between the poplars lines,
the eye-drawn point.
The painted stones
cool numbers in the spotted hemlock shade
each one forgotten as the next is reached
show distance as the hour from the dawn,
the closer hand.
The eye-drawn point,
the place beyond the days imprimatur,
the mirror to the basis of the mind.
No-one strays far from home,
and all return,
to face the day-warmed gate, the well-loved wall,
and, overhead, the swifts night-rounded flight
is soundless, and the summer lightning plays
in silence, and the heat is motionless.
Distance, the smallest undivided thing,
the colour over end and origin.
The Present Perennial