The Sweet Sublime

“I shall transcend myself in waves, oh god,
and may everything come and fall on me.”
Clarice Lispector, 1944

It’s mine
this sweet sublime.
And yet,
I seek the seed.
Longing for gestures bequeathed 
to others
withheld, denied.

If all nature is pure,
is walking in the way
to walk with light?
Are all roots the same?

Light lets us go 
as seasons change.

Grasping is to suffer,
the sublime was never mine.
Nothing is mine.
Nothing beholds everything.

Sweetness hidden 
sleeps in the seed
cradled in earth.

Await the return. 

Vermont