So still it is
that no leaf stirs
nor seed globe nods.
Only a brown moth flying erratically,
a zig-zag by the white chairs
then all the way, like a flying skiff
lurching paddled air
down overgrown path, from side to side
out of sight around apple trees,
and a tiny spider,
I notice, looking down,
speeding away from the pillar
of my pen.
Yet bird tongues are unstill
as spheres of traffic, or the
dull thunder of the plane
on its crass way to Manchester.
Where mansounds
sand and craze-glaze yet
birds embroidering dusky tapestries,
intricate as Inca star charts,
betoken precisely
the end of one (this) day.
..
YOU ARE READING
Bare Shouldered
Poesía"The difference of high Sensations with and without knowledge appears to me this - in the latter case we are falling continually ten thousand fathoms deep and being blown up again without wings and with all [the] horror of a bare shouldered Creature...
