The taxi makes the vegetables fly. <br />'Dozo kudasai,' I have him wait. <br />Past the bright lake up into the temple, <br />shoes off, and <br />my right leg swings me left. <br />I do survive beside the garden I <br /> <br />came seven thousand mile the other way <br />supplied of energies all to see, to see. <br />Differ them photographs, plans lie: <br />how big it is! <br />austere a sea rectangular of sand by the oiled mud wall, <br />and the sand is not quite white: granite sand, grey, <br /> <br />—from nowhere can one see all the stones— <br />but helicopters or a Brooklyn reproduction <br />will fix that— <br /> <br />and the fifteen changeless stones in their five worlds <br />with a shelving of moving moss <br />stand me the thought of the ancient maker priest. <br />Elsewhere occurs—I remember—loss. <br />Through awes & weathers neither it increased <br />nor did one blow of all his stone & sand thought die.<br /><br />John Berryman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dream-song-73-karensui-ryoan-ji/
