What Is There Beyond Knowing?

What is there beyond knowing that keeps
calling to me?  I can’t
 
turn in any direction
but it’s there.  I don’t mean
 
the leaves’ grip and shine or even the thrush’s
silk song, but the far-off
 
fires, for example,
of the stars, heaven’s slowly turning
 
theater of light, or the wind
playful with its breath;
 
or time that’s always rushing forward,
or standing still
 
in the same — what shall I say —
moment.
 
What I know
I could put into a pack
 
as if it were bread and cheese, and carry it
on one shoulder,
 
important and honorable, but so small!
While everything else continues, unexplained
 
and unexplainable.  How wonderful it is
to follow a thought quietly
 
to its logical end.
I have done this a few times.
 
But mostly I just stand in the dark field,
in the middle of the world, breathing
 
in and out.  Life so far doesn’t have any other name
but breath and light, wind and rain.
 
If there’s a temple, I haven’t found it yet.
I simply go on drifting, in the heaven of the grass
and the weeds.

— Mary Oliver