"The Temporal the All?"

Yes, not less present now than when
You gamboled down that slope,
Shuffling the beechLeaves,
Kicking up such a din
We had to walk or talk.
But now is here, and then was then.
Even a dead beechLeaf,
Within its javelin head, can glow
As warmly as a peach.
There, there!
They’re but a skin,
A skin, a bloom,
So thin they leave
No room for grief.
Tricks of the visible,
Its sunset show.
From the Indivisible,
All come. And we,
Before the senses were
And after their despair,
Are what no eye can see.