|Mountains they knew, and jungle, the sun, the stars --
|these seemed to be there. But even after they slashed
|the jungle and burned it and planted the comforting corn,
|they were discontent. They wanted the shape of things.
|They imagined a world and it was as if it were there
|-- a world with stars in their places and rain that came
|when they called. It closed them in. Stone by stone,
|as they built this city, these temples, they built this world.
|They believed it. This was the world, and they,
|of course, were the people. Now trees make up
|assemblies and crowd in the wide plazas. Trees
|climb the stupendous steps and rubble them.
|In the jungle, the temples are little mountains again.
|It is always hard like this, not having a world,
|to imagine one, to go to the far edge
|apart and imagine, to wall whether in
|or out, to build a kind of cage for the sake
|of feeling the bars around us, to give shape to a world.
|And oh, it is always a world and not the world.