And I don’t know what I would do
without that silent country
which is not like a forest
nor a mountain peak
and where there is no path
nor even tracks
left by earlier explorers,
so that I could almost be the first—
or the only—
but for one.

In another place
there is a fountainhead,
there is sunlight and
the smell of moist new earth.
Here there is only the spring, here

There is only surrender.


This is day 26 of LABIA MUNDA, a series of forty poems during the forty days of Lent. 

 

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