There are the far universes, the undiscovered
ocean depths, the hidden magma,
as if every morning you’ve been forsaken
and given smallness which you must accept as truth.
And some earthly paradise,
how reverent and radiant
the first fronds of green beginnings,
the shine of moonlight behind a cloud,
or the pearl in an ordinary shell.
There are the often-described blue sheep
of the Himalayas,
the grain of gold beneath the earth.
Oh traveler, what if the far river had not been created?
Where then would you dream of going?
What if you hadn’t believed the story
or trusted directions through the desert
all those dry miles?
I don’t care what you call it,
the human other portion, trust, belief.
What if you looked at it all aslant?
Then you would never have arrived
in the good red land, the heat,
suddenly finding the spring
and the wild horses.
Paradise has always been just out of sight.