Suddenly,
by Robin Blaser

copyright © 2006 The Regents of the University of California

I live in a room named East
on the map of the West   at the edge

near the door cedars and alders
mix and tower,
full of ravens   first thing each morning,
whose song is
                           a sharpness

 
we quarrelled so
                               over the genius
of the heart
                           whose voice is capable

 
they come on horseback
in the middle of the night,
two of them,   with a horse for me,
and we ride,   bareback
clinging to the white manes,
at the edge of the sea-splash,

 
burst open,

 
                            to divine
the hidden and forgotten source,
who is transparent
where the moon drops out of the fog
to bathe,
but not to us

 
the retied heart
                            where the wind glitters

                                                                      for Ellen Tallman