Simplicity

It opens, the gate to the garden
With the docility of a page
That frequent devotion questions
And inside, my gaze
Has no need to fix on objects
That already exist, exact, in memory.
I know the customs and souls
And that dialect of allusions
That every human gathering goes weaving.

I’ve no need to speak
Nor claim false privilege;
They know me well who surround me here,
Know well my afflictions and weakness.
This is to reach the highest thing,
That Heaven perhaps will grant us:
Not admiration or victory
But simply to be accepted
As part of an undeniable Reality,
Like stones and trees. 


J.L.Borges