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PAR T The Driver At the end ofthe war I arose From my bed in the tent and walked Where the island fell through white stones Until it became the green sea. Into light that dazzled my brain Like the new thought ofpeace, I walked Until I was swimming and singing. Over the foundered landing craft That took the island, I floated, And then like a thistle came On the deep wind ofwater to rest Far out, my long legs ofshadow downpointing to ground where my soul Could take root and spring as it must. Below me a rusted halftrack Moved in the depths with the movement One sees a thing take through tears Ofjoy, or terrible sorrow, A thing which in quietness lies Beyond both. Slowly I sank And slid into the driver's shattered seat. Driving through the country ofthe drowned On a sealed, secret-keeping breath, Ten feet under water, I sat still, Getting used to the burning stare Ofthe wide-eyed dead after battle. I saw, through the sensitive roofHelmets / I82 F OUR The uneasy, lyrical skin that lies Between death and life, trembling alwaysAn airplane come over, perfectly Soundless, but could not tell Why I lived, or why I was sitting, With my lungs being shaped like two bells, At the wheel ofa craft in a wave Ofattack that broke upon coral. "I become pure spirit," I tried To say, in a bright smoke ofbubbles, But I was becoming no more Than haunted, for to be so Is to sink out ofsight, and to lose The power ofspeech in the presence Ofthe dead, with the eyes turning green, And to leap at last for the sky Very nearly too late, where another Leapt and could not break into His breath, where it lay, in battle As in peace, available, secret, Dazzling and huge, filled with sunlight, For thousands ofmiles on the water. Horses andPrisoners In the war where many men fell Wind blew in a ring, and was grass. Many horses fell also to rifles On a track in the Philippine Islands And divided their still, wiry meat To be eaten by prisoners. I sat at the finish line At the end ofthe war Knowing that I would live. Long grass went around me, halfwind, Where I rode the rail ofthe infield And the dead horses travelled in waves Horses and Prisoners / I83 ...

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