Why go if you know what lies beyond?
Come, come, come to the shade of the white sky and the canopy.
Come, for beside us, rivers run from the mountains into the sea.
The water sees us, it wishes us well.
Not a sound does the river make that we do not hear.
The canopy is quiet, fear not, it does not have a single secret.
Why must you hear everything? I ask.
He simply must. To not hear is to go. To go though he knows what lies beyond.
To not hear is to leave the shade of the white sky and the canopy, he scoffs.
Stay, I say, and hear.
These boughs have no stories to tell. The river only wishes and wails. The birds are quiet;
They would speak any other day. Only I speak today.
And only you hear.
----
I have spoken. You have heard and have solemnly ignored the canopy, the rivers, and the birds.
What have you learned?
The windows have opened, he says.
The windows have opened, and beauty has itself incarnated in your words.
Crossing these banks, innumerable sparrows have come and perched on your lips; they look upon me curiously.
The sun falls. It shines through the shade and over the secret-less canopy and wailing river.
What now? I ask.
The sparrows fly in the sunlight, having learned to sing again.
