Since I decided to accept this
quiet corner of the garden
as my undeserved Elysium
and to make the birdsong and the flowers
stand for the rightness of everything,
I find I have no need to show
how many pieces the world is in,
how better and worse it always is;
where motivated reason and
unreason lead and where the next
fall and salvation’s coming from.
No remorse, the last hurrah
of influence, survives this light,
constant and evenly-spread, from lawn
and bush, towards the open fields.
