The poem is not the world.
It isn't even the first page of the world. (8.1-2)
It wants to open itself,
like the door of a little temple,
so that you might step inside and be cooled and refreshed,
and less yourself than part of everything. (8.5-8)
This is the dark bread of the poem.
This is the dark and nourishing bread of the poem. (12.18-19)