Around me, the unseen miracle
Of the past: the birds in the tree—the hills—the clouds—the people passing by,
I am at the centre of my time
And they are all in the past
What stranger miracles are there?
After Walt Whitman:
To me the sea is a continual miracle,
The fishes that swim—the rocks—the motion of the waves—the ships with men in them,
What stranger miracles are there?