Now the yellowy angel stillsthe swifts from their jabber and swoop,soothes the air from the pear tree’s highest boughsto the shocks of plantainin the sidewalk cracks, crouchedwithout a stir.Good silence she wills in late afternoon.Good silence swaddled soon in the robin’s weird devotions—Cheer and O.Even the power lines must buzz in praise.And the sage, who droops for lack of rain,bows green in deference.The slip of borage opens blue and spreads.Yes, she lies down thick in yellow bloomsthat will be the long fruits.She sleeps among squash.And the people doze midday in awe of her.They fear no end. They fear no persistence.And the people wait like buds in her name. [End Page 117]
Here floats the mind on summer’s dock.The knees loose up, hands dither off,the eyes have never heard of clocks.The mind won’t feel the hours, the mind spreads wideamong the hours, wide in sun. Dear sun,who gives the vision but is not the vision.Who is the body and the particle and wavethat speak into the dark below the dock.Who to the minnows in the sand-sunk tireseems like love.Make us the brightness bent through shade.The thing, or rush of things, that showsan opening, a way. [End Page 118]
K. A. Hays's books of poetry are Early Creatures, Native Gods (Carnegie Mellon, 2012) and Dear Apocalypse (Carnegie Mellon, 2009). Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Best American Poetry, American Poetry Review, Gray's Sporting Journal, Kenyon Review, and elsewhere. She teaches at Bucknell.