Here and there in the searing beam
Of my hand going through the night meadow
They all are grazing
With pins of human light in their eyes.
A wild one also is eating
the human grass,
Slender, graceful, domesticated
By darkness, among the bred-for-slaughter,
Having bounded their paralyzed fence
And inclined his branched forehead onto
Their green frosted table,
The only live thing in this flashlight
Who can leave whenever he wishes,
Turn grass into forest,
Foreclose inhuman brightness from his eyes
But stands here still, unperturbed,
In their wide-open country,
The sparks from my hand in his pupils
Unmatched anywhere among cattle,
Grazing with them the night of the hammer
As one of their own who shall rise.
JAMES DICKEY
No comments:
Post a Comment