John Wieners for spring

I copied this out by hand and put it in a notebook but have decided to type it up for you all as well. It's a (as always) great John Wieners poem, this one for springtime.

The Meadow Where All Things Grow
 According to Their Own Design

Destiny lies behind our forces
and what lives in the soul
dies not. It inhabits our dreams
as perpetual light. 

As the spring grass flowers,
it sprouts out in hair on our chin
and keeps birds thin
with the perpetual gnawing of desire.

The higher one goes
up the angelic ladder
remains the minute bits
and ends of our life.

Seeds there to recur when we
are most unaware.
Old faces, letters crop up again.
Words from our poems 

Menace the night

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