Dioxophy

If you hurl it away and say
'Things exist,' proclaiming loudly
And in the daylight, it is true
The world will continue to turn,
And the intercessions of twilight
Keep spinning, drenching the peaks
Of the night, whose serenity
Glazes the swamps and pastures alike.

But why? Is there any reason
To ask the question at all? Will reason
Run me less than passion, meaning
Blind circumstance and whatever I think?

As much as I would like to conceive
Of a harmless space, a perisphere of peace
About the eddies of material
Being, still these changing currents
Are the rip-tides within as well as without.

There is no logic abstracted from logic:
The ground soaks up the storm,
And the storm soaks up the ground; far from the earth,
The best bet is to lash the sails to the deck,
To take quick action, and quick thought:
The unity of a man is as his being does.