This is the way things did happen.
I happened on a hill
between Sunday and Monday,
looked back at the mountainside
from which I’d come—
a hundred glinting houses,
a hundred circling camps,
a hundred flickering candles
in open windows. The road
draped the coast-crags
with pale diamonds
and a woman lay down
over it all,
lustrous and low. I tendered
my resignation
to any who would accept it.
Two moose
hovered on the hill.
I saw the cow and calf
and melted into the trees.
Seven ages passed.
A flock of cranes
mourned the loss of the day.
It occurred
to me,
we should all agree
we are nothing
and should remain so.