From minds creating waterfalls,
In fields of buttercups and flies,
The start of summer crashes in,
And breaks the stream of forming words.
Those thoughts which capture pike in webs –
Suspended from the highest boughs –
Are linking up connections dead,
A million human years or more.
So summon fish and burst the banks,
And cast about the newborn springs.
The lathe is working hard on dreams,
To join the lakes and neural paths,
And everything connects and splits:
This heaven Earth has Eden streams.
for Ursula Le Guin