But we have only begun
to love the earth.
We have only begun
to imagine the fullness of life.
How could we tire of hope?
so much in the bud.
How can desire fail?
we have only begun
to imagine justice and mercy
only begun to envision
how it might be to live as siblings
with beast and flower, not as oppressors.
Surely our river
cannot already be hastening
into the sea of nonbeing? |
Surely it cannot drag, in the silt,
all that is innocent?
But yet, not yet
there is too much broken
that must be mended,
too much hurt we have done
to each other that cannot yet be forgiven.
We have only begun to know
the power that is in us if we
would join our solitudes in the
communion of struggle.
So much is unfolding that must
complete its gesture,
so much is in the bud. |