Regards to the day, the great long day
That can't be hoarded, good or ill.
What breathes in us likely means us well.
We rise up from an earthly root
To seek the blossom of the heart.
What breathes in us likely means us well.
We are a voice impelled to tell
Where the joining of sound and silence is.
We are the tides and their witnesses.
What breathes in us likely means us well.
The beauty of the trees,
the softness of the air,
the fragrance of the grass,
speaks to me . . .