Garden church, innocence not swept or lost,

a lovely hour: morning hour! Come

to the eaves, the leaves, the flowers and dirt,

come to the pasture—bend low—and move quickly

but move, breathe, for silence—calm—peace—

or whatever moves you, but come! Touch and taste.

What do you want? A bus? A bandwagon?

A shiny car? You couldn’t move so slowly.

Motion is life, it is hidden: come, come,

you won’t go any farther today

on the path you’ve chosen; block it, and come.

Your feet are tired from their stillness; rest

will not help, time will not help, money hurts,

so come, throw down, steal a single moment!