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Quick as pins, through the forest, And all rushes on into dark And ends on the brightness ofpaper. 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, I shall crawl to my human bed And lie there smiling at sunrise, With the scent ofthe fox Burning my brain like an incense, Floating out ofthe night wood, Coming home to my wife and my sons From the dream ofan animal, Assembling the selfI must wake to, Sleeping to grow back my legs. TheMovement ofFish No water is still, on top. Without wind, even, it is full Ofa chill, superficial agitation. It is easy to forget, Or not to know at all That fish do not move By means ofthis rippling Along the outside ofwater, or By anything touching on air. Where they are, it is still, Under a wooden bridge, Under the poised oar Ofa boat, while the rower leans And blows his mistaken breath To make the surface shake, The Movement ofFish / 77 Or yells at it, or sings, Halfbelieving the brilliant scan Ofripples will carry the fish away On his voice like a buried wind. Or it may be that a fish Is simply lying under The ocean-broad sun Which comes down onto him Like a tremendous, suffusing Open shadow Ofgold, where nothing is, Sinking into the water, Becoming dark around His body. Where he is now Could be gold mixed With absolute blackness. The surface at mid-sea shivers, But he does not feel it Like a breath, or like anything. Yet suddenly his frame shakes, Convulses the whole ocean Under the trivial, quivering Surface, and he is Hundreds offeet away, Still picking up speed, still shooting Through half-gold, Going nowhere. Nothing sees him. One must think ofthis to understand The instinct offear and trembling, And, ofits one movement, the depth. The Heaven ofAnimals Here they are. The soft eyes open. Ifthey have lived in a wood It is a wood. Ifthey have lived on plains Drowning with Others / 78 ...

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