Whoever you are: step out in eveningfall,
Out of your room where nothing is afar.
Your house lies at the very edge of all,
Whoever you are.
With eyes so weary they can barely free
Themselves up from the threshold's worn-out stone,
You slowly heft a black and slender tree,
Set it against the heavens: tall, alone.
And you have made the world. It is immense
And like a word kept in the mouth to grow,
And when your will has seized upon its sense,
Then tenderly your eyes will let it go.