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A.R. Ammons

 I said I will find what is lowly


 and put the roots of my identity


 down there:


 each day I'll wake up


 and find the lowly nearby,


 a handy focus and reminder,


 a ready measure of my significance,


 the voice by which I would be heard,


 the wills, the kinds of selfishness


 I could


 freely adopt as my own:


 


 but though I have looked everywhere,


 I can find nothing


 to give myself to:


 everything is


 


 magnificent with existence, is in


 surfeit of glory:


 nothing is diminished,


 nothing has been diminished for me:


 


 I said what is more lowly than the grass:


 ah, underneath,


 a ground-crust of dry-burnt moss:


 I looked at it closely


 and said this can be my habitat: but


 nestling in I


 found


 below the brown exterior


 green mechanisms beyond the intellect


 awaiting resurrection in rain: so I got up


 


 and ran saying there is nothing lowly in the universe:


 I found a beggar:


 he had stumps for legs: nobody was paying


 him any attention: everybody went on by:


 I nestled in and found his life:


 there, love shook his body like a devastation:


 I said


 though I have looked everywhere


 I can find nothing lowly


 in the universe:


 


 I whirled though transfigurations up and down,


 transfigurations of size and shape and place:


 


 at one sudden point came still,


 stood in wonder:


 moss, beggar, weed, tick, pine, self, magnificent


 with being!

 

 

 

 ~ A. R. Ammons

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