Come up to it, as you stand there
that the wind is quite warm on the sides
of the face. That is so, felt
as a matter of practice, or
not to agree. And the span,
to walk over the rough gra**-all of this
is that we do, quite within acceptance
and not to press
the warm alarm
but a light
surface, a day
lifted from high
thich roots, upwards
Where we go is a loved side of the temple,
a place for repose, a concrete path.
There's no mystic movement involved: just
that we are
is how, each
severally we're
carried into
the wind which makes no decision and is
a tide, not taken. I saw it
and love is
when, how &
because we
do: you
could call it Ierusalem or feel it
as you walk, even quite jauntily, over the gra**.