in direction of "heart of the city"

Aren`t you amazed by
wise imperfection
carefully devised coincidence
don`t you wonder at
the unceasing heart
solitude that asks for nothing and promises nothing
what an ant can transport
willow grove all yellow, and snowdrops,
love that appears without our permission
green malachite that tins the air
a look from an unexpected direction
drop of milk which against a black background turns blue
tears supossedly singular but always universal
faith older than the oldest notions of God
anxiety of the good
ministrations of trees
friendship of animals
doubt assumed with faith
deaf and dumb joy
truth finally true not chopped to bits
can you stop writing
in order to start reading? - J. Twardowski, Questionnaire