We can never be complacent, no matter what we know, what we experience, what we gain or lose. Creeley, again and again, in poetry, in prose, in personage, in breath, in breathing, in breadth, argued same, perhaps never more directly than in this poem:
Life
for Basil
Specific, intensive clarity,
like nothing else
is anything
but itself --
so echoes all,
seen, felt, heard
or tasted, the one
and many. But
my slammed fist
on door, asking
meager, repentant entry
wants more.
(p. 19, Windows, New Directions, 1990)
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