I hide behind the simple things
(not the easy)
so you’ll find me;
If you don’t find me,
you’ll find the things
You’ll touch what my hand has touched,

Our handprints will merge…

The august moon glitters
In the kitchen
Like a tin plated pot

(it does that because of what I am saying to you),

It lights up the empty house
And the house’s kneeling silence
Always the silence remains kneeling

Every word is a doorway
To a meeting—one often cancelled—
And that’s when a word is True:
When it insists on the meeting