sauntering out of the almost-
silly West, on your face . . .
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The summer of nineteen eighteen
I read The Jungle and The
Research Magnificent. That fall . . .
What did he do except lie
under a pear tree, wrapped in
a great cloak, and meditate . . .
Learn from the man who spends much of his life speaking
To the back of your head knowing what it means to follow
. . .
The warping night air having brought the boom
Of an owl’s voice into her darkened room,
We tell the wakened child that all she heard . . .
Life has loveliness to sell,
All beautiful and splendid things,
Blue waves whitened on a cliff, . . .
Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord:
He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored;
He hath loosed the fatal lightning of his terrible swift sword: . . .
Back when I used to be Indian
I am standing outside the
pool hall with my sister. . . .
When I fall asleep, and even during sleep,
I hear, quite distinctly, voices speaking
Whole phrases, commonplace and trivial, . . .
Like all his people he felt at home in the forest.
The silence beneath great trees, the dimness there,
The distant high rustling of foliage, the clumps . . .