When you consider the radiance, that it does not withhold <br />itself but pours its abundance without selection into every <br />nook and cranny not overhung or hidden; when you consider <br /> <br />that birds' bones make no awful noise against the light but <br />lie low in the light as in a high testimony; when you consider <br />the radiance, that it will look into the guiltiest <br /> <br />swervings of the weaving heart and bear itself upon them, <br />not flinching into disguise or darkening; when you consider <br />the abundance of such resource as illuminates the glow-blue <br /> <br />bodies and gold-skeined wings of flies swarming the dumped <br />guts of a natural slaughter or the coil of shit and in no <br />way winces from its storms of generosity; when you consider <br /> <br />that air or vacuum, snow or shale, squid or wolf, rose or lichen, <br />each is accepted into as much light as it will take, then <br />the heart moves roomier, the man stands and looks about, the <br /> <br />leaf does not increase itself above the grass, and the dark <br />work of the deepest cells is of a tune with May bushes <br />and fear lit by the breadth of such calmly turns to praise.<br /><br />A. R. Ammons<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-city-limits-2/
