West Wind Read Free Page A

wide field
    the dark deer
went running,
    five dogs
screaming
    at his flanks,
at his heels,
    my own two darlings
among them
    lunging and buckling
with desire
    as they leaped
for the throat
    as they tried
and tried again
    to bring him down.
At the lake
    the deer
plunged—
    I could hear
the green wind
    of his breath
tearing
    but the long legs
never stopped
    till he clambered
up the far shore.
    The dogs
moaned and screeched
    they flung themselves
on the grass
    panting
and steaming.
    It took hours
but finally
    in the half-drowned light
in the silence
    of the summer evening
they woke
    from fitful naps,
they stepped
    in their old good natures
toward us
    look look
into their eyes
    bright as planets
under the long lashes
    here is such happiness when you speak their names!
here is such unforced love!
    here is such shyness such courage!
here is the shining rudimentary soul
    here is hope retching, the world as it is
here is the black the red the bottomless pool.

At the Shore
    This morning
wind that light-limbed dancer was all
over the sky while
ocean slapped up against
the shore's black-beaked rocks
row after row of waves
humped and fringed and exactly
different from each other and
above them one white gull
whirled slant and fast then
dipped its wings turned
in a soft and descending decision its
leafy feet touched
pale water just beyond
breakage of waves it settled
shook itself opened
its spoony beak cranked
like a pump. Listen!
Here is the white and silky trumpet of nothing.
Here is the beautiful Nothing, body of happy,
meaningless fire, wildfire, shaking the heart.

At Great Pond
    At Great Pond
the sun, rising,
scrapes his orange breast
on the thick pines,
    and down tumble
a few orange feathers into
the dark water.
On the far shore
    a white bird is standing
like a white candle—
or a man, in the distance,
in the clasp of some meditation—
    while all around me the lilies
are breaking open again
from the black cave
of the night.
    Later, I will consider
what I have seen—
what it could signify—
what words of adoration I might
    make of it, and to do this
I will go indoors to my desk—
I will sit in my chair—
I will look back
    into the lost morning
in which I am moving, now,
like a swimmer,
so smoothly,
    so peacefully,
I am almost the lily—
almost the bird vanishing over the water
on its sleeves of light.

Part 2
WEST WIND

WEST WIND
1
    If there is life after the earth-life, will you come with me? Even then? Since we're bound to be something, why not together. Imagine! Two little stones, two fleas under the wing of a gull, flying along through the fog! Or, ten blades of grass. Ten loops of honeysuckle, all flung against each other, at the edge of Race Road! Beach plums! Snowflakes, coasting into the winter woods, making a very small sound, like this
    soooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
    as they marry the dusty bodies of the pitch-pines. Or, rain— that gray light running over the sea, pocking it, lacquering it, coming, all morning and afternoon, from the west wind's youth and abundance and jollity—pinging and jangling down upon the roofs of Provincetown.
2
    You are young. So you know everything. You leap into the boat and begin rowing. But, listen to me. Without fanfare, without embarrassment, without any doubt, I talk directly to your soul. Listen to me. Lift the oars from the water, let your arms rest, and your heart, and heart's little intelligence, and listen to me. There is life without love. It is not worth a bent penny, or a scuffed shoe. It is not worth the body of a dead dog nine days unburied. When you hear, a mile away and still out of sight, the churn of the water as it begins to swirl and roil, fretting around the sharp rocks—when you hear that unmistakable pounding—when you feel the mist on your mouth and sense ahead the embattlement, the long falls plunging and steaming—then row, row for your life toward it.

3
    And the speck of my heart, in my shed of flesh