Two or three lines across;            the black ones, down,
into the ground where grass sparkles and shines;
but the foundation is the green and the shine.
Windows are drawn in.             Overhead the sun
surrounded by his crown, continually given.
It is a real place, door, floor, and windows.
 
I float past it.            I look in at the little children.
I climb up the straight and planted path, alone.
In the city today grown, walking on stone,
a suddenness of doors, windows, bread and rolls.
 
Roads are in all I know     :     weapon and refugee,
color of thunder calling          Leave this room,
Get out of this house.           Even then, joy began,
went seeking through the green world, wild and no longer wild
always beginning again.          Steady giving and green decision,
and the beginning was real.          The drawing of a child.