Initiation

Whoever you are, go out into the evening,
leaving your room, of which you know each bit,
your house is the last before the infinite,
whoever you are.
Then with your eyes that wearily
scarce lift themselves from the worn-out door-stone
slowly you raise a shadowy black tree
and fix it on the skYlslender, alone.
And you have made the world (and it shall grow
and ripen as a word, unspoken, still).
When you have grasped its meaning with your will,
then tenderly your eyes will let it go...

I have seen for some time now
the change in everything.
Something arises and acts
and kills and brings suffering. 

In the gardens now from day to day
is a change from green
to yellow and gray,
a slow dying-away :
how long my road has been.

Now I stand in this emptiness
and look down the rows of trees.
Almost to the distant sea
the foreboding earnestness
of the sky lies heavily.

Slowly now the evening changes his garments
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