A terrible violence of creation, A flash into the burning heart of the abominable; Yet if we wait, unafraid, beyond the fearful instant, The burning … - Theodore Roethke

Yet if we wait, unafraid, beyond the fearful instant,
The burning lake turns into a forest pool,
The fire subsides into rings of water,
A sunlit silence.

Many astounds before, I lost my identity to a pebble;
The minnows love me, and the humped and spitting creatures.

The moon draws back its waters from the shore.
By the lake's edge, I see a silver swan,
And she is what I would. In this light air,
Lost opposites bend down —
Sing of that nothing of which all is made,
Or listen into silence, like a god.

I lived with deep roots once:
Have I forgotten their ways —
The gradual embrace
Of lichen around stones?