What's lightly hid is deepest understood.

Teach me, like you, to drink creation whole/ And casting out myself, become a soul.

What's lightly hid is deepest understood.

Happy in all that ragged, loose collapse of water, the fountain, its effortless descent and flatteries of spray.

Composition for me is, externally at least, scarcely distinguishable from catatonia.

There is a poignancy in all things clear, In the stare of the deer, in the ring of a hammer in the morning. Seeing a bucket of perfectly lucid water We fall to imagining prodigious honesties.

That's the main business of the poem!-to see if you can't make up a language that sets all your selves talking at once-all of them being fair to each other.