(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.