Watching the Jet Planes Dive

 

We must go back and find a trail on the ground

 back of the forest and mountain on the slow land;

 we must begin to circle on the intricate sod.

 By such wild beginnings without help we may find

 the small trail on through the buffalo-bean vines. 

 

We must go back with noses and the palms of our hands,

 and climb over the map in far places, everywhere,

 and lie down whenever there is doubt and sleep there.

 If roads are unconnected we must make a path,

 no matter how far it is, or how lowly we arrive.

 We must find something forgotten by everyone alive,

 and make some fabulous gesture when the sun goes down

 as they do by custom in little Mexico towns

 where they crawl for some ritual up a rocky steep. 

The jet planes dive; we must travel on our knees.

 --William Stafford