There is no dark like a night
replete with the mystery of death.
There is no truth like a fleeting wind.
There is no lover like a lonely tree.
There is no friend like a blade
of faithful grass.
There is no light like a solitary beam
from the sun.
There is no poem like an evolving earth
and no Poet like the great Grace
of Silence.
willows pull the water up into their
farthest reach which curves again
down divining where their life begins.
So, under travels up, and down and up again,
and the wind makes music of what water was.