I would go to a high place and sacrifice to God But there is no high place; this is an alluvial plain Dark with conifers except along the sloughs Dark in their own ways with cypress and oak
And I am old, too old to be a prophet And I have often asked for all the wrong things So I will take those things into the dark And leave them at the foot of a pagan oak
I will learn the statutes from the whisperings I will go into the quiet, and listen for God