Did you think for a moment Earth
Was aware of itself? Never. Its adoration
Persists altogether elsewhere from
The very beginning, beginning again
Just at that moment one leaf all alone
Spins into the baroque, a scherzo of one note. 

The hillside is covered with little doors,
And the wind rises out of them, returning,
When the music is spent, with all the news
Of the unaware, unreflecting, nearly perfect
Hours blindly about the business of perfection. 

Hence the tiny eyes on a butterfly’s wing.
Rebirth is an idiot. Isolated
Each into its own eternity,
Like every pain, birth continues out of mind
Deeper into the hill. Earth riots
With levity. Darkness swims into light.
Flowers begin to imagine the life of flowers. 

Heaven signals to me, pouring down shade
Out of the canopy of trees, prying
The sunlight apart from itself. Darkness
And light are the same thing. Music moves
Effortlessly between the two, made of nothing
But wings, wings with eyes, no end in sight. 

--from When I Die; Donald Revell