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have you ever seen
anything
in your life
more wonderful

than the way the sun,
every evening,
relaxed and easy,
floats, towards the horizon

and into the clouds or hills,
or the rumpled sea,
and is gone-
and how it slides again

out of the blackness,
every morning,
on the other side of the world,
like a red flower

streaming upward on its heavenly oils,
say, on a morning in early summer,
at it's perfect imperial distance-
and have you felt for anything

such wild love-
do you think there is anywhere,
in any languge,
a word billowing enough
for the pleasure

that fills you,
as the sun
reaches out, as it warms you

as you stand there,
empty-handed--
or have you too
turned from this world

or have you too
gone crazy
for power,
for things