(a trifle)
Its like they saw you coming up the drive, And in advance began to open the front door. You look, for a while, at a tree or flower, Just in its eyrie of ground shade, And boxes made of light start to appear With soft warm edges and then fade. You realize the minds of growing things Have inner chambers, can invite you in; Offer a cup of vernal sap and green Ambrosia to your lips, yes, warm your feet With bundles of gold hay upon the hearth, Until you realize you’ve never introduced yourself To most of the world’s beings. To what house Could Ocean, asked, convey you? Or the mouse, More numerous than man himself. The king Of mice may secrets have to tell. And hawks Know places where the belly of the Light Is soft for being snatched into your food. But always take your shoes off at the door And tip the porter with a wing across your eye.


Existential Cozymaxxing FTW w this poem