Leaving the Lowlands
I am in no way the right man for this place.
I try to believe I could learn to live
like the wild animals, to find
nourishment in seeds and berries,
at peace in the thorny chaparral,
independent of baggage. Yet I know
I am totally unacquainted with them,
worried about the bread supply,
troubled I am not in any manner able
or faithful. All men know this—and still
I climb toward the perch of gods
as if I am that angel looking homeward,
where each breath will slowly kill me
because I move there uninvited,
I am what I am and no more.