(It is not built of sticks
Like a seashore nest),
It fills itself. It needs no prefix.
It needs no study, it needs no
Preparation or label
(Perhaps it is a nest,
Perhaps light behind a fable).
All learning, warmth and kindness
Prepare us for the boulevards
Of that world, for its skies,
Its words, its camelopards.
We are walls, and all
Our preparation strips the paint,
Those dark and uncouth layers
That spattered on our windows in constraint
Of light that propagates,
That blazes through the scattered dew,
That flares across the wheat and sod,
Beneath the stork’s eye point of view.