Every summer br I listen and look br under the sun's brass and even br into the moonlight, but I can't hear br br anything, I can't see anything - br not the pale roots digging down, nor the green stalks muscling up, br nor the leaves br deepening their damp pleats, br br nor the tassels making, br nor the shucks, nor the cobs. br And still, br every day, br br the leafy fields br grow taller and thicker - br green gowns lofting up in the night, br showered with silk. br br And so, every summer, br I fail as a witness, seeing nothing - br I am deaf too br to the tick of the leaves, br br the tapping of downwardness from the banyan feet - br all of it br happening br beyond any seeable proof, or hearable hum. br br And, therefore, let the immeasurable come. br Let the unknowable touch the buckle of my spine. br Let the wind turn in the trees, br and the mystery hidden in the dirt br br swing through the air. br How could I look at anything in this world br and tremble, and grip my hands over my heart? br What should I fear? br br One morning br in the leafy green ocean br the honeycomb of the corn's beautiful body br is sure to be there.