Conceived first estrous of September
ram-served under that mellow sun,
who did his flame-best, winter,
late February lamb
stands and bawls
on a raw bare hill, where
warm from the teat, life drains in wind skeins.
She knows zilch how leaves will push from buds
grass grow so sweet and lush
why birds shall make such a sudden fuss
or boxing hares by field edge dart
about right by her - gone!
Blinks in April sun like we all do,
lost in profusion.
Aren't we too as ignorant?
We don't know love can re-clothe itself
and mirth renew as tears roll too,
blizzards clean, blossoms dream,
birdsong infuse.
And at night just how the low
moon reclaims her fragrances.
...
YOU ARE READING
Bare Shouldered
Poetry"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...
