The seed of Eden,

            wedded in perfect rows, lingers

                        as if the earth

                                    had hands and fingers;

Reaching toward the endless ancient sky

In selfish prayer–

As if an answer why

            to the question lie           

                        somewhere out there.

Oh mighty light,

            battery of star,

I wish I might

            know who you are.

                        The deed to do, the thing to be.

                        The need to do what’s best for me.

                        To need the deed, a thing to do.

                        To want to do what’s best for you.

Summer 1991