I see the shape
of the wind in the trees,
The hand of God 
in the feathers of the bird,
I hear the eternal splash, 
the fall of water, 
the stream that marks the forest run,

Where the taste of infinity looms 
large on my tongue,

There I’ve touched the damselfly, reclined beside me on a warm rock,

Languid and at the tip of sleep, we both on the nod, this morning of the long shadow, this endless breaking day

Nothing but promise ahead,
The hope of time and ambition,
The call of endless possibility,
The intoxication, the breathless high