A Place for Yourself

You don't know why you've come here,

perched in the dark on the valley's rim

above the drone of village sounds.

You say, If I go back among people

someone inside me will drown.

So you remain, rainwater caught in the rocks.

Shapes, bare granite and trees

hoverout of eye's reach.

Clouds pull away in dark patches,

and with this new light

you can see everywhere in the pool.

And when you stop listening to your

eyes and ears, you feel the pool

as a pebble in your heart, pulling

all that is you awake; the coin,

turning as it falls into the well,

your place in the darkness.

1977