Still
I said I will find what is
lowly
and put the roots of my identity
down there:
each day I'll wake
up
and find the lowly nearby,
a handy focus and reminder,
a ready
measure of my significance,
the voice by which I would be heard,
the
wills, the kinds of selfishness
I could
freely adopt as my
own:
but though I have looked
everywhere,
I can find nothing
to give myself to:
everything
is
magnificent with existence,
is in
surfeit of
glory:
nothing is diminished,
nothing has been diminished for
me:
I said what is more lowly
than the grass:
ah, underneath,
a ground-crust of dry-burnt moss:
I
looked at it closely
and said this can be my habitat: but
nestling in
I
found
below the brown exterior
green mechanisms beyond the
intellect
awaiting resurrection in rain: so I got up
and ran saying there is
nothing lowly in the universe:
I found a beggar:
he had stumps for legs:
nobody was paying
him any attention: everybody went on by:
I nestled in
and found his life:
there, love shook his body like a devastation:
I
said
though I have looked everywhere
I can find nothing lowly
in the
universe:
I whirled though
transfigurations up and down,
transfigurations of size and shape and
place:
at one sudden point came
still,
stood in wonder:
moss, beggar, weed, tick, pine, self,
magnificent
with being!
~ A. R. Ammons
~