RUSH

                    Veil by veil,   
                  tear by tear:    
           our foundation, thus.

           Rush there then, love,
   where your roots spring and crush,
there where your roots spring and crush.

      I am there, my roots are there:
              our foundation, thus.
      Rush, my love; my love, rush.

          THE SELF

    The world does not
    make sense to sense
              but still
            the self is
              not just
   memory and grammar,
              not just
    the I that remembers
               it was:

       Though diffuse, being
               in time,
         our character is
              revealed 
   by doing and true knowing,
             or say better,
       what is hardest of all,
           honest thought.

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