Tide-mark grit-lines beach-edge the sea-long
road;
The road glows wet in the skiff-coils of
rain;
The stump-shadows of hills are dull as
dough;
Two choughs chatter red on a castle wall;
Yes, I know a single field holds the world;
If only I made time to be, and see
What I have not seen before or anew:
The silent sun-glitter of granite flecks;
The froth of whitethorn in whistling hedges;
The milky-pale peak in cloud-mist and snow.
I am now a vagrant skin finger-tracing
the silent soul-mask of your Noh-play face,
hearing the blank-ma-spaces between words.
You chant your true self in the second act.
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