The vase's pattern in shadow
is no less beautiful
for not being seen.
In the month of the slow turn,
pulled back to the sling of the sun,
downhill on the planet
with the wind in my mouth,
I've stopped worrying
if you read me or not
and just bend to the work—
Simplicity, purity, even poverty,
in the preservation of being,
while there's being left to preserve.
