Transcendence – A.R. Ammons

Just because the transcendental
having digested all change into
a staying, promises foreverness,

it’s still no place to go, nothing
having survived there into life:
and here, this lost way, these

illusory hollyhocks and garages,
this is no place to settle: but
here is the grief, at least,

constant, that things and loves
go, and here the love that
never comes except as permanence.