PARADOX HILL: "FROM APPALACHIA TO LUNAR SHORE, REVISED EDITION"

BOATING SONG

63 BOATING SONG Drift, drift, do not lift Your birch pole from the river. Let the arrow grasses grow In their reedy quiver. Let the arrow grasses grow In their moveless shallow Underneath the moon-strung bow Of a leaning willow. Drift, drift, do not turn Near that clump of arrows. On each side the fox-fires burn Warning of the narrows. Drift, drift, do not pause Where those arrows sway. Who would see them bring to earth The dead, white bird of day? ...