Horizon

Enclose the shell
in its ocean.
Carry your hands
to Machu Picchu
and let them
feel the stones
and dark cup
which Neruda left
on the altar
of mountains.
Let your eyes open
to that raucous crowd
into which Whitman waded
as if he were a longshoreman
or a hostler of mules.
The way opens.
Persuade your feet
that it is so.
Carry the Great Plains
into the city
and raise a row house
among the tall grasses.
The horizon,
your horizon,
is unimaginable.