It is a nation born in the quiet part of the mind,
that has no fantasy of omnipotence,
, no net of one vow,
no dark corner of the poor, no fugue-work of hate,
no hierarchies of strength, knowledge, or love,
no impure water spasming from rock, no swarm of polluted flies,
no ash-heap of concrete, gypsum, and glass,
no false mercy or truths buried in excrement;
and in this nation of men and women,
no face in the mirror reflecting more darkness
than light, more strife than love, no more strife
than in my hands now, as I sit on a rock,
tearing up bread for red and white carp
pushing out of their element into mine