You're sitting here with us, but you're also
out walking in a field at dawn.
You are yourself the animal we hunt when
you come with us on the hunt.
You're in your body like a plant is solid
in the ground, yet you're wind.
You're the diver's clothes
lying empty on the beach.
You're the fish.

In the ocean are many bright strands
and many dark strands like veins
that are seen when a wing is lifted up.
Your hidden self is blood in those, those veins
that are lute strings that make ocean music,
not the sad sound of surf,
but the sound of no shore.

I, too, have seen the woods.

This being human is a guest house
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.