Letter from Randall's Bay

When I wander along this lovely beach
and see the sun sailing
on every calming wave,
I think of you.

When I hear the island sing of sanctuary
and the whispering headland
speak of trust,
I think of you.

When I lie alone at night
and fear the enclosing darkness
will lure me to despair,
I think of you.

When I sit working at my desk
and language and ideas flow
like golden honey,
I think of you.

Who knows how many times
I pause in every day to think of you?
I only know that if this is all there ever is
It is enough, for drab and drying clay
turns to brightest, living blue
When I think of you.


For in this enough what resides is all
Warming pleasures and pain beyond recall.
In this is rock and sand and tree and flower,
the riotous tumult, the quiet bower,
dusk and dawn, firmament and sea
the infinite gods and minute mortality.

In this is deep and solemn gravity
And light-hearted simple gaiety,
Joyful music of the everlasting spheres
Deep being-alone in the valley of tears.

To the inmost chamber of my heart
A secret enters in,
And the distance is no less real
for being paper thin.

A union of solitudes inexplicable
Saluting, connecting, inextricable,
When I think of you.