The lamentable change is from the best.
The worst returns to laughter. I came back
To the aspens in their autumn beauty
More than half a decade later, thinking I was
Leaving then, thinking I was leaving ever
Since, but here I am returning now. And here
They are, still pretending the sound of rain
With every breeze through their remaining
Leaves, these acres and acres of clones
Covering the burnt-over slopes, mostly
The same. This universe, this world, this
Whatever frame you want to name it with,
At least as I have experienced it, is good
At that, at those twins, nothing much
And mostly the same. I do believe it is
Exploring something, exploring itself,
And I am a tiny tendril of it, because it is
So damned thorough about the tiniest
Possible changes, each one turned over
And over again. The universe in a grain
Of sand is scalable to trillions of grains,
To the universe in toto, everywhere different,
Everywhere somewhat the same, each
And every infinitesimal change explored and none
Ignored. This is not the forest I loved and lost
Six years before, not the forest of any earlier
Poems, and yet, in its trunks, if not its leaves,
It is mostly the same. The deception
And madness that pushes us blindly toward
The nearest cliff is also the clever outcast
In us that persuades us the edge is much nearer
So we only take a smaller fall and rise again
To tell ourselves, gossamer, life is a miracle.
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