What is there Beyond Knowing?
What is there beyond knowing that keeps calling to me? I can’t turn in any direcion but it’s there. I don’t mean the leaves’ grip and shine or even the thrush’s silk song, but the far-off fires, for example, of the stars, heaven’s slowly turning theater of light, or the wind playful with its breath; or time that’s always rushing forward or standing still in the same moment. What I know I could put into a pack as if it were bread and cheese, and carry it on one should