In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

A DOG SLEEPING ON MY FEET Being his resting place, I do not even tense The muscles of a leg Or I would seem to be changing. Instead, I turn the page Of the notebook, carefully not Remembering what I have written, For now, with my feet beneath him Dying like embers, The poem is beginning to move Up through my pine-prickling legs Out of the night wood, Taking hold of the pen by my fingers. Before me the fox floats lightly, On fire with his holy scent. All, all are running. Marvelous is the pursuit, Like a dazzle of nails through the ankles, Like a twisting shout through the trees Sent after the flying fox Through the holes of logs, over streams Stock-still with the pressure of moonlight. My killed legs, My legs of a dead thing, follow, Quick as pins, through the forest, And all rushes on into dark And ends on the brightness of paper. When my hand, which speaks in a daze The hypnotized language of beasts, Shall falter, and fail Back into the human tongue, And the dog gets up and goes out To wander the dawning yard, Drowning With Others 5 5 I shall crawl to my human bed And lie there smiling at sunrise, With the scent of the fox Burning my brain like an incense, Floating out of the night wood, Coming home to my wife and my sons From the dream of an animal, Assembling the self I must wake to, Sleeping to grow back my legs. 56 ...

Share