the world around me, in the world of men
   studded to the hilt with green (scorches silence, the time-corroded
     hands that mean to caress) – it is because in birdflight and bird-knowledge
I am with them.

    their beaks excite, the flair in their physiognomy retain importance,
  it is    in   their   vague   meters,   the measure of    roads  remain
    undefined.   the world  around me,   in the world    of men
        flayed    to the    bone    with the   color     of     green
  (its   congenital     quiet,    its    growth   like  the   sea,   a mound  of
          island-woven  muses rising    like   caryatids )

   in    such   loftiness   I  can   endure
God’s    hand   through    the    rind   of   the limit   testing
    pain’s   territories   with    His   bare   word;

the   world around me,   in the midst of  all men,
    perished in  the   voyage  heeding   His   footfall  outside,
smiling tenderly     proved   through   incredulity,   His    masterfulness,
  and  I,    in the   world   of   men,   have ceased   with  birds.