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Dark grassland, with three birds higher Than those that have left. They are up there With great power: so high they take this evening for good Into their force-lines. I alone move Where the other birds were, the low ones, Still swaying in the unreal direction Flocking with them. They are gone And will always be gone; even where they believe They were is disappearing. But these three Have·the height to power-line all Land: land this clear. Any three birds hanging high enough From you trace the same paths As strong horses circling for a man alone, born level-eyed As a pasture, but like the land Tilting, looking up. This may be it, too. The Six When you think strong enough, you get something You don't mean And you d6: something prized-out, Splintered, like a rock quarry going Through you and over you Like love, and past and on Like love: whatever arms, legs, head, Breastbone, whatever feet and hands you love most, Most want to live And die with, are given out as flying Related rock; are charged With the life that lives By means ofstone. The body ofyour lover tries to form and be The Six / 441 Those six stones. For some reason They are hurtling, and ifyou meet them head-on You will know something nobody means But her. She is moving at the speed oflight Some place else, and though she passes Through you like rock-salt, she is still six And not one. But neither is the rain Single, blotting number and stone With vibrancy; neither is the rain, I tell you, Man riddled with rocks And lust: The rain putting out Your wretched, sympathetic Stone-jawed poetic head, its allotted Fresh bodies falling as you stand In amongst, falling and more Than falling falling more Falling now falling More than now. Stars and grass Have between them a connection I'd like to make More of-find some way to bring them To one level any way I can, And. put many weeds in amongst. 0 woman, now that I'm thinking, Be m. there somewhere! Until now, ofthe things I made up Only the weeds are any good: Between them, Nondescript and tough, I peer, The backs ofmy hands At the sides ofmy face, parting the stringy stalks. The Eagle's Mile / 442 ...


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MARC Record
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