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Collected Poetry

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Beating Heart, Dancing Feet  

  Affinity 


And he used his eyes, in supplicant,
pilgrim wonder, to question the divine presence
      and its insistence upon signs clandestinely
      revealed by angels with dark wings.

And he used his eyes; he used his widened eyes,
weary and bell-rung from rough life and warm weather
      to sing the simple songs his wanderings had
      taught him among the crestfallen and the newly-blonde.

And he used his eyes, his sullen receptors,
to monitor the mythic moonrise, febrile and airy,
      through a lace of black pines, above a little
      lake, cloud-curtained, snow-lit in February; oh!

And he used his eyes and they tricked him
and threw him down where striped horses raced—stony
      and barefoot upon an ancient trail, hounded
      by wolves, hounded by coarser men, hurt,
      sleepless, and still lovely.

And he used his eyes and his eyes worked the fields
for him like animals in domestic service, seeing
      the day as the day shed its light
      like sheets in harness, sending a light,
      reflecting a light, conquering these sweating beasts
      with only a color.

And he used his eyes as he used his tired eyes:  (chorus)
Over the footbridge of bone, and the boy's hyacinth voice
      Softly reciting the forest's forgotten legend,
      And more gently, a sick thing now, the brother's wild lament.



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