It was miles from the mountains
To where we are now.
We have left the mountains
         far behind.

I do not know what you call 
         this place.
It is room for breathing.

Our life twists
Endlessly away
Each second
From the last.

There is no explaining our life.
The next instant can be found
Only in the darkness
That is the time before.

You draw our life out of the darkness.
You bring it, sparkling water,
From a well nobody sees.

I can stand in this place:
The air is fine,
The grass is green,
The rainbows are lovely.

The only difference is,
There's no telling what's next.

Today yellow,
Tomorrow chatreuse,
Thursday a Chinese Dragon,
Friday the Oracle of Delphi.

We can dispense with our minds.
Reason comes up over the horizon
And contains us.

An Oriental bazaar, a lover's boudoir,
A quiet family gathering, workaday life,
Deathbed scenes: very ordinary is this life.
Only the Light differs.

The Light source is not seen,
But all forms are lighted from behind,
From off the picture.
Their lives are cast in its glow.
This life is a great picture, a solemn one.

But then it is another great picture,
A mirthful one.
Then, entirely whimsical:
Alligators with violins,
Turtles with sweaters,
Wands waving magicians.

Then it is only blue sky,
And then, not even that.