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/