Lines 1-5

In the opening line, "Not like a cypress," the speaker immediately ensnares readers with intrigue, employing negation as a hook. The audience senses the promise of revelation. By declaring what he is not, the speaker sets the stage for a tantalizing disclosure of what he truly embodies.

Progressing to the second line, the speaker nuances his initial claim: "not all at once, not all of me." This twist delights with its unpredictability, as the speaker refines the cypress metaphor. He suggests a partial affinity rather than complete likeness, sparking curiosity. Readers ponder—what aspects of the speaker mirror the cypress? What traits do they share?

In the third line, the speaker shifts away from specifics about the cypress, introducing a contrasting image: "like the grass, in thousands of cautious green exits." Here, the speaker evokes a departure from the rigidity of trees to the pliancy of grass, inviting readers to juxtapose these elements. While the cypress stands firm, grass sways and bends, mirroring the ever-changing environment where it thrives.

The latter part of this line intrigues further. The notion of "thousands" instills comfort, a sense of unity in numbers akin to a vast meadow teeming with grassy blades. Yet, with "cautious," the imagery shifts, hinting at unseen perils. "Green exits" evokes escape or retreat, an enigmatic imagery suggesting both safety and subtle apprehension.

Lines 4 and 5 continue this theme of mild wariness yet infuse it with playfulness: "to be hiding like many children / while one of them seeks." The speaker invokes a childhood game, hide-and-seek, blending caution with innocence. Here, caution is affectionate and earnest, driven by the simple aim to triumph in a game cherished by children.

Lines 6-13

The poem's rhythm takes root in the first stanza, where the speaker contrasts what he is not with a vivid self-definition. This motif recurs in the second stanza: "And not like the single man, / like Saul, whom the multitude found / and made king." Saul's biblical narrative unfolds—a first king of Israel, known for valor and charm, who reigned from 1020 to 1000 B.C.E. Yet, stories also depict Saul's frailties, culminating in his downfall. The speaker subtly distances himself from Saul's archetype.

The poem transcends Saul's legacy, weaving in imagery more organic, neutral, and nurturing.

   But like the rain, in many places
   from many clouds, to be absorbed, to be drunk
   by many mouths, to be breathed in
   like the air all year long
   and scattered like blossoming in springtime.

In stark contrast, Saul was a warrior who waged battles for territorial expansion, often painted as envious and grasping. The speaker, however, aligns with gentler forces—the omnipresent rain and air, boundless, nourishing, and essential. The singular "man" of line 6 dissolves into "many"—a chorus of places, clouds, and mouths. The air, with its perennial presence, evokes an eternal essence. The stanza's initial constraint expands into the rain and air's vast embrace.

Lines 14-17

In the third stanza, the speaker asserts, "Not the sharp ring that wakes up / the doctor on call," a jarring image evoking urgency and the harsh interruption of repose. Such a sound heralds potentially dire circumstances. Yet, the speaker refrains from this piercing call, likening himself instead to "a tapping, on many small windows / at side entrances, with many heartbeats."

This sound, subtle and distant, akin to a faint heartbeat, evokes life's gentle rhythm. It contrasts the night's emergency call, embodying life's serene continuity rather than urgent despair.

Lines 18-25

In the poem's final stanza, the speaker softens his imagery to a near-whisper, beginning with "the quiet exit, like smoke." The...