O monad! if I so may sing without
Offense: the universe is wrapped about
Your hair like embers glowing in the fire;
In pre-established harmony the choir
Of seraphic and atomic songs are sung
All through your throat, and in your heart and lung;
And whole the earth you hold within your hands,
Now balancing the seas, the skies, the sands
Between your eyes and eyelids, head and feet;
Here all things seeing all things merge and meet,
The endless spaces, worlds of wind and water,
Forests, deserts, whether cold or hot or—
Here every particle’s contained in one
Vast nexus of perception.
I’m not done
In having said that shimmering on your breath
(Which like all other things in sluggish death
Does not expire, but becomes very small)
The best of possible worlds, and of all
Of them the very best, inheres: for you,
A city seen from many points of view,
A city made of mirrors, infinites
Reflecting endless finite definites,
As made contingently and having mind,
Above all these reflections and behind,
You mirror the great unreflecting Thought
From Whom come all things, and without Him, nought.

And so, O monad, in the least of parts
Or passions, thoughts within your heart of hearts,
A little hair—a single burnished strand—
A walk just after sunset by the sand
And sea, your softest-breathed, gentle sigh,
Can there be found all things, all blessedness,
All lights, perfections, and all loveliness
Found in the world, the mind of God, and I?

—Fall 2000