The Whole Motion: Collected Poems, 1945–1992

Fence Wire

Led by the halter to sleep On his four taxed, worthy legs. Each thinks he awakens where The sun is black on the rooftop, That the green is dancing in the next pasture, And that the way to sleep In a cloud, or in a risen lake, Is to walk as though he were still In the drained field standing, head down, To pretend to sleep when led, And thus to go under the ancient white Ofthe meadow, as green goes And whiteness comes up through his face Holding stars and rotten rafters, Quiet, fragrant, and relieved. Fence Wire Too tight, it is running over Too much ofthis ground to be still Or to do anything but tremble And disappear left and right As far as the eye can see Over hills, through woods, Down roads, to arrive at last Again where it connects, Coming back from the other side Ofanimals, defining their earthly estate As the grass becomes snow While they are standing and dreaming Ofgrass and snow. The winter hawk that sits upon its post, Feeling the airy current ofthe wires, Turns into a robin, sees that this is wrong, Then into a boy, and into a man who holds His palm on the top tense strand Helmets / I3 6 With the whole farm feeding slowly And nervously into his hand. Ifthe wire were cut anywhere All his blood would fall to the ground And leave him standing and staring With a face as white as a Hereford's. From years ofsurrounding grain, Cows, horses, machinery trying to turn To rust, the humming arrives each second, A sound that arranges these acres And holds them highstrung and enthralled. Because ofthe light, chilled hand On the top thread tuned to an E Like the low string ofa guitar, The dead corn is more Balanced in death than it was, The animals more aware Within the huge human embrace Held up and borne out ofsight Upon short, unbreakable poles Wherethrough the ruled land intones Like a psalm: properly, With its eyes closed, Whether on the side ofthe animals Or not, whether disappearing Right, left, through trees or down roads, Whether outside, around, or in. AtDarienBridge The sea here used to look As ifmany convicts had built it, Standing deep in their ankle chains, Ankle-deep in the water, to smite The land and break it down to salt. I was in this bog as a child At Darien Bridge / I3 7 ...