On rubber shoes, all sounds now go
and clothed in light and air towards our minds.
They listen quietly before they knock
and greet the old familiar and are let in.
A mowing machine that buzzes in the blue.
A gate that closes in. A rustling of straw.
And remove thatched roof and remove steps
It clucks lazily around a wharf pole.
A tent flies up with rapid beating of wings,
and the sun puzzles by its hot fire –
Today animals and trees and stones have souls.
It is a lush and bewitched day,
and it is strange and good to exist.