From out of the depths—

—out from under the forest canopy
through the wildness of green along rivers and creeks
and where people have been, and there, seeking,
I am alone upon a hillside.

.

Out of the depths, into coverts and woods; to the west
roiling surf, broken kelp and shingle;
up rivers, up streams; in glades and in hollows;
there, with the cooing of pigeons, I am trembling
as a leaf in air.

.

Out of the depths and out of the shadow,
over parklands and farmlands, wide rivers of ocean,
trails into underwood; light filtered through greens;
pigeons at courting; I am standing now
on a forest floor, swept—clean as a chapel.
In the distance, broad places of people
and the sounds and silences of livingness.

.

Out from the depths and out from a world of transient light
and thought, here— to cocks and hens and unfledged
pigeons— upon a rise, upon this forest floor,
Upon my knees.

.

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