Epiphany -- 1967
There is a rippling slash of red-tinged
minewater
Running three feet wide, four inches
deep
Along a pot-holed shale road
Blackened by spilled coal,
Reddened by strip mine sulfur
Along whose banks I first heard
The Music of the Spheres
Walking in mingled sunlight and
maple-shade,
Passing half-cleared hillsides,
grazing cows,
an engineless hulk of a dragline;
My destination---the Source.
I arrived at the gate at the head
of the hollow:
Barred, locked, "No Trespassing"
sign attached,
And I turned back,
The stream still singing as though
alive.
3-17-2000
