Do you remember, how, once,
there was enough in just snow and woods?
How all but the closest sounds would soften, as you lay back,
and clung, with arms outstretched, to the earth’s gentle curve,
feeling the world about its tilted axis turning,
immersing you in clear winter night?
How, starlight rays, would press you to the snow,
gentle and fraternal, pared down for this:
from the universe without, through your lifted eyes to pass,
to be transformed (inside you! who might one day in them find transformation!)
and in the universe therein to find whate’r it was they sought?
Perhaps, to be recorded in the greater immortality?