Collected Poems

BY A LAKE IN MINNESOTA

TWO HORSES PLAYING IN THE ORCHARD Too soon, too soon, a man will come To lock the gate, and drive them home. Then, neighing softly through the night, The mare will nurse her shoulder bite. Now, lightly fair, through lock and mane She gazes over the dusk again, And sees her darkening stallion leap In grass for apples, half asleep. Lightly, lightly, on slender knees He turns, lost in a dream of trees. Apples are slow to find this day, Someone has stolen the best away. Still, some remain before the snow, A few, trembling on boughs so low A horse can reach them, small and sweet: And some are tumbling to her feet. Too soon, a man will scatter them, Although I do not know his name, His age, or how he came to own A horse, an apple tree, a stone. I let those horses in to steal On principle, because i feel Like half a horse myself, although Too soon, too soon, already. Now. BY A LAKE IN MINNESOTA Upshore from the cloud — The slow whale of country twilight — The spume of light falls into valleys Full of roses. And below, Out of the placid waters, Two beavers, mother and child, 126 Wave out long ripples To the dust of dead leaves On the shore. And the moon walks, Hunting for hidden dolphins Behind the darkening combers Of the ground. And downshore from the cloud, I stand, waiting For dark. BEGINNING The moon drops one or two feathers into the field. The dark wheat listens. Be still. Now. There they are, the moon's young, trying Their wings. Between trees, a slender woman lifts up the lovely shadow Of her race, and now she steps into the air, now she is gone Wholly, into the air. I stand alone by an elder tree, I do not dare breathe Or move. I listen. The wheat leans back toward its own darkness, And I lean toward mine. FROM A BUS WINDOW IN CENTRAL OHIO, JUST BEFORE A THUNDER SHOWER Cribs loaded with roughage huddle together Before the north clouds. The wind tiptoes between poplars. The silver maple leaves squint Toward the ground. THE BRANCH WILL NOT BREAK I2y ...