. .
Of the dawn
Over Frisco
Lighting the large hills
And the very small coves
At their feet, and we
Perched in the dawn wind
Of that coast like leaves
Of the most recent weed----And yet the things
That happen! Signs,
Promises----we took it
As sign, as promise
Still for nothing wavered,
Nothing begged or was unreal, the thing
Happening, filling our eyesight
Out to the horizon----I remember the sky
And the moving sea.
(from "Guest Room," This In Which, New Directions, 1965)
