I have the night free, do you, my love?
We might then walk together to the field
Where the chickens potter and the hens
Cry out their own awakenings.
For mystery's sake, I do not go there enough.
It is the place we happen upon only when
Contingencies overlap, it is the place that
Presents itself to us only when an event
Draws our attention to the field that is already
Open and waiting, so long as we see it,
It is the field that is itself an event.
And we can go there, so long as you’re free,
So long as you hear my gentle beckoning,
Soft as a breeze rolling down the hill.
