I'd say that the middle stanza is closer: that's the place where the poem ranges unexpectedly into a different realm.

Zen pretty much comes down to three things -- everything changes; everything is connected; pay attention.

When I write, I don't know what is going to emerge. I begin in a condition of complete unknowing, an utter nakedness of concept or goal. A word appears, another word appears, an image. It is a moving into mystery.

You may do this, I tell you, it is permitted. Begin again the story of your life.

I think, though, that perspective-awareness may follow from a kind of speaking that also came into my work more recently - the "assay" poems (some labeled that, some not) that engage an abstraction or object from multiple angles.

A studio, like a poem, is an intimacy and a freedom you can look out from, into each part of your life and a little beyond.

I want to preserve a certain unknowing about my own poems - perhaps because unknowing is in itself a useful poetic thirst. To move the perimeter of saying outside my own boundaries is one reason I write.