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The Concern

Able to move through the world

from one end to another, calmly

buying milk at a bodega

or standing beneath red cliffs

watching a waterfall

amid droplets of spray

Hearing that voice

which fills my eyes, etc.

and viewing the celestial


cirrus: ice crystals

nimbus: something to do with rain

cumulus: specimens of the real

Gray clouds depend

as if anchored to the earth

light spaces itself

across subjects of inherent

instability, like blossoms,

snow, sailboats, crowds

Where is

a harmony parallel to nature's?

wherein an instant is mirror smooth,

presents itself honestly,

green, then greener

In the mind there is no conclusion

positive constellations are hidden

no way to go that shouts it is the way

and effort seems to result in nothing

a sure sign that light

dispels no evil, no confusion

Around the corner some sort of future

clearly waits for those who approach

it is a canvas upon which

all men have painted

with varying results

The concern guides us

not to be false

not to catch a drift

that doesn't ring true

Nothing certain but

the pink rose mallow

extravagantly blooming

beside the stream

It is nothing but

the pleasure of color,

a trust placed

in the continuance

of a landscape