1

You find it suddenly, opening up, then
quickly closing like the entrance to any estate.
The car zips by and it’s gone. You’ve passed the gate
before you know it. You double back and when
you take stock properly a kind of gladness
moves you to admit it, just as you are admitted
into history or heritage, something perfectly fitted
to bring about the light and giddy madness
the peasant must have felt on seeing it
finished; that life like this is an extension
of the limits of the known world, beyond mention,
incomprehensible, almost infinite,
as if it were not the chains he had to wear
but something utterly sprightly, made of air.

[...]