Geophany Can Turn My Clay To This

The Waking
by Theodore Roethke

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.
I learn by going where I have to go.
We think by feeling. What is there to know?
I hear my being dance from ear to ear.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
Of those so close beside me, which are you?
God bless the Ground! I shall walk softly there,
And learn by going where I have to go.
Light takes the Tree; but who can tell us how?
The lowly worm climbs up a winding stair;
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
Great Nature has another thing to do
To you and me; so take the lively air,
And, lovely, learn by going where to go.
This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.
What falls away is always. And is near.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I learn by going where I have to go.

Geophany Can Turn My Clay To This

Geophany can turn my clay to this:
A falling body in lively earth immures,
My bones refuse to call this change a sin.

Going out, almost forgotten, coming in…
(Leaf of the blossom with the nectar lures)
Old ghosts the skin refuses to dismiss.

Tumbled stone marks where the wind has been,
No more than this with which I can assure:
My bones refuse to call this change a sin.

Can come the wrinkled foot before the fin?
Blowing dust in fines all shapes inter;
Geophany can turn my clay to this.

The secret to withdrawal is knowing when:
An empty room some vow therein assures;
My bones refuse to call this change a sin,

Or deny the sun a shape in other skin;
The trail is broken by those footsteps going first,
Old ghosts the skin refuses to dismiss,
My bones refuse to call this change a sin.