think; like a leaf on a tree
thinks; like shadow and light,
like shining bark thinks,
like the grubs beneath
the barkskin think, like lichen
on a stone and a bit of dry rot
think, like the squawroot thinks,
like this misty forest clearing
thinks, like the marshes think
where the rising of the rainbow
is reflected, think like a bit of
mud, a bit of raindrop
thinks, think like a mirror
so vitally — see
on its throne of nothing
the sandstorm’s vortex;
see how banally enclosed
in the least small grain of
sand an ingenious
fossilised life rests up
from the trip; just see
how calmly it bears
the primal sea’s swarm
of beginnings; just see
how simple a sign
in which like a substance
the truth is reflected;
just see how
truly, graciously; let
things be; add
words, but let
things be; see
how easily they find
shelter by themselves
behind a stone; see
how easily they steal
into your ear
and whisper
to death to go away
”—Inger Christensen, from “alphabet”
