Entrance
Whovever you are: step out in to the evening out of your living room, where everything is so known; your house stands as the last thing before great space: Whoever you are. With your eyes, which in their fatigue can just barely free themselves from the worn-out thresholds, very slowly, lift a single black tree and place it against the sky, slender and alone. With this you have made the world. And it is large and like a word that is still ripening in silence. And, just as your will grasps their meaning, they in turn will let go, delicately, of your eyes . . .