i hear new things from the morning pine boughs:
be gentle, be still, be ever green/
i hear new things from the white and open lake:
be empty, be form,
be a song when you ache for more/
i’m trying, dear mother,
to let the soft animal love as he does
but my morning body wakes
from contorting and bothered aches
so today, i try, and
i hear new things from the bleating dusty streets:
just go/ just go/ just go/
