At The Gateway of America

You tossed the I-Ching

and I the servant

of the master

entered out of the door with you.

I laughed,

and knew again

of trees and grass

and human warmth.

You,

Who played

and were anew

the breath of awed perception,

Oh Beauty-of-Narcissus-Bloom

Holding that single stock

be one with the uncluttered

simplicity-of-spring;

While I

As an unobstructed flow

Am mingled with my Mother

the mud

the earth

and sky.