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MOON FLOCK No, don't ask me to give you What happened in my head when the dark felt It should change: when the black ploughblade Went through and dissolved. That was bad enough, But ifyou want to understand Frustration, look up while the moon, which is nothing But a wild white world, Struggles overhead: fights to grow wings For its creatures but cannot get Creatures to have them. It is known: nothing can be put Up on a wind with no air; No wing can lift from stones Lighter than earth-stones, where a man could leap Leap till he's nearly forever Overhead: overhead floating. No wings, In all that lightness. You want to understand: All right. You don't have to look up, but can look straight Straight Straight out out over the night sea As it comes in. Do that. Do it and think ofyour death, too, as a white world Struggling for wings. Then The Eagle's Mile 177 All the water your eyesight will hold While it can, will not be lost And neither will the moon As it strains and does nothing But quiver when the whole earth places you Underfoot as though suspended For good. You deserve it. You should be That moon flock; and not, as you will be, A moveless man floating in the earth As though overhead, where it is not Possible to wave your arms At something, or at nothing: at a white world Or at your mother, or at the ocean In shock, that I told you about, all insanity And necessity when it sees you, and is right at you Coming hair-tearing Hair-tearing and coming. ...

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