Looking to where the mountains breathe deeply She lifts her nightgown, revealing a reddening dawn.   The poet quickens,   then hurries ahead              to meet the outcome. What came before climbs to where a bird hops off the path. She hops, we hop, we all hop together as the last ice of the Ice Age melts.

 

   The poet quickens: R. Char. From, "Why The Day Flies." M. Hutchinson, translator.