What was it came out of the forest?
Was it silt only? And what silt
if not for rain?
I could have said the same for the house
as we came up the drive, van see-sawing
laterally on topographic gravel.
Old windows beneath arched eyebrows
gazed out at the sea
like a benevolent mother
under whose virtue we climbed.
I could have said the same:
if not for forest, if not for storm . . .
if not for fog, if not pines greying . . .
if not for forest and all rushing
out of it to the cold indifferent ocean,