In the massing of motion,
exhaled essences of river swollen push
pushing the too-muchness of the much off
to the furthest down bottom that swells
and grows in its order to make largeness
enough for all of the all and then more
and more. But an equally... absolute
stillness opposes, though
in contrast, the flow that so goes
and goes outlines and shadows a nature
and being that stays so surprisingly
and so completely still.
In this so so perfect example
of rush, there is so much
of a sameness holding as it builds up
the steadiness that stretches between
you or me here and all of the out there,
where we can look. The shapes in their
movements... so mixed. The place here,
where the awe of my watching is fixed.
Like my mind being alive is a flame...
one thought that's the same
in the searching it makes, and in all
of the memories that its traveling takes.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem