The soul is a region without definite boundaries:
it is not certain a prairie
can exhaust it
or a range enclose it:
it floats (self-adjusting) like the continental ma**,
where it towers most
extending its deepest mantling base
(exactly proportional):
does not flow all one way: there is a divide:
river systems thrown like winter tree-shadows
against the hills: branches, runs, high lakes:
stagnant lily-marshes:
is variable, has weather: floods unbalancing
gut it, silt altering the
distribution of weight, the nature of content:
whirlwinds move through it
or stand spinning like separate orders: the moon comes:
there are barren spots: bogs, rising
by self-accretion from themselves, a growth into
destruction of growth,
change of character,
invasion of peat by poplar and oak: semi-precious
stones and precious metals drop from muddy water into mud:
it is an area of poise, really, held from tipping,
dark wild water, fierce eels, contercurrents:
a habitat, precise ecology of forms
mutually to some extent
tolerable, not entirely self-destroying: a crust afloat:
a scum, foam to the dep and other-natured:
but deeper than depth, too: a vacancy and swirl:
it may be sperical, light and knowledge merely
the iris and opening
to the dark methods of its sight: how it comes and
goes, ruptures and heals,
whirls and stands still: the moon comes: terrain.