If you leave it be, let it be, and let it come
To the blossoming—it may change with you,
May be the morning desert full of dew,
May be the direction of your gaze, awake
In a different body, the body of your work;
At the end, then, you can touch the eye,
An instant where two senses meet:
I stand behind the sun at each setting
Into the place where the next begins.
