We have walked, looked at the actual trees: br The chestnut leaves wide-open like a hand, br The beech leaves bronzing under every breeze, br We have felt flowing through our knees br As if we were the wind. br br We have sat silent when two horses came, br Jangling their harness, to mow the long grass. br We have sat long and never found a name br For this suspension in the heart of flame br That does not pass. br br We have said nothing; we have parted often, br Not looking back, as if departure took br An absolute of will--once not again br (But this is each day's feat, as when br The heart first shook). br br Where fervor opens every instant so, br There is no instant that is not a curve, br And we are always coming as we go; br We lean toward the meeting that will show br Love's very nerve. br br And so exposed (O leaves before the wind!) br We bear this flowing fire, forever free, br And learn through devious paths to find br The whole, the center, and perhaps unbind br The mystery br br Where there are no roots, only fervent leaves, br Nourished on meditations and the air, br Where all that comes is also all that leaves, br And every hope compassionately lives br Close to despair.