Reality is not simply there, it does not simply exist: it must be sought out and won.
Black milk of daybreak we drink it at sundown.
Illegibility of this world. All things twice over. The strong clocks justify the splitting hour, hoarsely. You , clamped into your deepest part, climb out of yourself for ever.
Tall poplars--human beings of this earth!
who is invisible enough to see you
The poem is lonely. It is lonely and en route. Its author stays with it. Does this very fact not place the poem already here, at its inception, in the encounter, in the mystery of encounter?