|Mont Saint-Michele, France|
The Wild Geese
Horseback on Sunday morning,harvest over, we taste persimmonand wild grape, sharp sweetof summer’s end. In time’s maze
over the fall fields, we name names
that went west from here, namesthat rest on graves. We opena persimmon seed to find the treethat stands in promise,pale, in the seed’s marrow.Geese appear high over us,pass, and the sky closes. Abandon,as in love or sleep, holdsthem to their way, clear,in the ancient faith: what we needis here. And we pray, not
for new earth or heaven, but to bequiet in heart, and in eyeclear. What we need is here.
~Wendell Berry, “The Selected Poems of Wendell Berry”