A.F. Moritz


The first and simplest things were best.
Light, and then darkness and wind.
Water, which is light with darkness
for its body and wind
for its blood and action. Then trees
arise on its banks: complex things
and implying complexities, implying
a whole earth, but staying where they are,
at home to pay homage to the simple.
Trees arise and are unformed song,
whether sound when the air stirs
or the rhythm of their standing side by side
in silent black or bright. Next comes one
traveling, eager, a dread of what comes next,
who stops under them awhile,
imagines their lyrics, and imagines
himself abolished in simplicity.