Looking to the sea, it is a line
of unbroken mountains.
It is the sky.
It is the ground. There
we live it, on it.
It is a mist
now tangent to another
quiet. Here the leaves
come, there
is the rock in evidence
or evidence.
What I come to do
is partial, partially kept.
Robert Creeley
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-innocence/
