Each intricate, lovely thing will be erased. Worldly hands banish what the worlds regard.
Worldly hands vanish from the world’s regard Believing they had scored the world in stone.
The self-adoring atoms whirl in stone. This brightly colored dome reclines in sand
And casts the four directions into sand, And centers the very wind with patient dust–
Conjured intimations of the ancient dust. Someone labored faithfully grain by grain
Knowing all would scatter grain by grain, Or wear away, as air re-forms the rock.
What is that joyous singing inside the rock, Though each intricate, lovely thing will be erased?