Task

 

I keep returning

to 3 A.M.

Millions mingle here

in verdant mist,

some plunging toward slumber,

others rising toward black

curves of emptiness

bending to no asymptote

of thought or word

in the womb of awakening

where small frogs only listen

but do not peep,

raindrops neither

cling nor fall, suspended

in glistening darkness,

no exhalation of Thou,

no inhalation of I,

only a trembling stillness

that enfolds the infinitesimal

tear of the green earth

in a vigilance that was here

before we opened our eyes.

O dear one, be reminded

by silence

that our work is not

to fall asleep,
this vigilance,

this task of love.