This is what was bequeathed us:
This earth the beloved left
No other world
But this one:
Willows and the river
And the factory
With its black smokestacks.
No other shore, only this bank
On which the living gather.
No meaning but what we find here.
No purpose but what we make.
That, and the beloved’s clear instructions:
Turn me into song; sing me awake.
Untitled ["This Is What Was Bequeathed Us"], from How Beautiful the Beloved. © Copper Canyon Press, 2009.
Image credit: Untitled by DigitalVision, Ltd. (originally color).