The Blessed Dies as We Desire

We
have a
lust to thrust
ourselves into
sacred places.
Here
is a land untouched and
uncommanded, except by
laws that forged it.
Here
a tree might grow and die,
a forest wax and wane
under a plain blue sky
without a cloud or doubt.
Here,
the pine sings, and the
water too, and the
deer might hear the
distant droning boat
for the first time
and think
it's only thunder,
and it will wonder
why the sky is bright
and yet
the storm
comes.