　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　I

There was an ease of mind that was like being alone in a boat
　　　at sea,
A boat carried forward by waves resembling the bright backs
　　　of rowers,
Gripping their oars, as if they were sure of the way to their
　　　destination,
Bending over and pulling themselves erect on the wooden
　　　handles,
Wet with water and sparkling in the one-ness of their motion.

The boat was built of stones that had lost their weight and being
　　　no longer heavy
Had left in them only a brilliance, of unaccustomed origin,
So that he that stood up in the boat leaning and looking
　　　before him
Did not pass like someone voyaging out of and beyond the
　　　familiar.
He belonged to the far-foreign departure of his vessel and was
　　　part of it,
Part of the speculum of fire on its prow, its symbol, whatever
　　　it was,
Part of the glass-like sides on which it glided over the salt-
　　　stained water,
As he traveled alone, like a man lured on by a syllable without
　　　any meaning,
A syllable of which he felt, with an appointed sureness,
That it contained the meaning into which he wanted to enter,
A meaning which, as he entered it, would shatter the boat and
　　　leave the oarsmen quiet
As at a point of central arrival, an instant moment, much or
　　　little,
Removed from any shore, from any man or woman, and needing
　　　none.

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　II

The metaphor stirred his fear. The object with which he was
　　　compared
Was beyond his recognizing. By this he knew that likeness of
　　　him extended
Only a little way, and not beyond, unless between himself
And things beyond resemblance there was this and that intended
　　　to be recognized,
The this and that in the enclosures of hypotheses
On which men speculated in summer when they were half
　　　asleep.

What self, for example, did he contain that had not yet been
　　　loosed,
Snarling in him for discovery as his attentions spread,
As if all his hereditary lights were suddenly increased
By an access of color, a new and unobserved, slight dithering,
The smallest lamp, which added its puissant flick, to which he
　　　gave
A name and privilege over the ordinary of his commonplace--

A flick which added to what was real and its vocabulary,
The way some first thing coming into Northern trees
Adds to them the whole vocabulary of the South,
The way the earliest single light in the evening sky, in spring,
Creates a fresh universe out of nothingness by adding itself,
The way a look or a touch reveals its unexpected magnitudes.