Ontological                                                   If it were not so bright,                                                   Not so dark;                                      If there had been another hour,          Another storm,                      Something to keep track of                                  Or something to hold at bay;          If there had been no bird    On the barest tree,                        With one bitter crumb in its mouth,                          One little speck;               If the honey surrounding that crumb                          Had not been sweet, If the evening had been less silent,                           Humming one note       Without leaving any name,                                     Calling me to a field whose sickle moon                      Made it clear                                         That nothing would speak;                              If the way to the field                                                        Had been less glorious,                                    A drop of dew beside a milkweed seed, A ladybug scampering toward light,                      And flowers on fire Swaying among tall grasses -                          A river of paper lanterns at dawn;                                              If the current did not carry                                                              The scent of cyclamen,                                                   Wild as grief                            Spilling its horn of plenty, Outlasting the final kiss of day.