|
| Mountains they knew, and jungle, the sun, the stars -- |
| these seemed to be there. But even after they slashed |
| the jungle and burned it and planted the comforting corn, |
| they were discontent. They wanted the shape of things. |
| They imagined a world and it was as if it were there |
| -- a world with stars in their places and rain that came |
| when they called. It closed them in. Stone by stone, |
| as they built this city, these temples, they built this world. |
| They believed it. This was the world, and they, |
| of course, were the people. Now trees make up |
| assemblies and crowd in the wide plazas. Trees |
| climb the stupendous steps and rubble them. |
| In the jungle, the temples are little mountains again. |
| |
| It is always hard like this, not having a world, |
| to imagine one, to go to the far edge |
| apart and imagine, to wall whether in |
| or out, to build a kind of cage for the sake |
| of feeling the bars around us, to give shape to a world. |
| And oh, it is always a world and not the world. |
