Lark hit us in the face with his rising sound.
We were unstruck by wind before and raced
Train, and saw all signs with one eye only,
And were shelled against sky
And all that we went by.
Now lark said something in the field and we heard it,
And it mounted and rode upon our ears as we sped.
And we heard windshield rattle and canvas creak thereafter,
And pondered every line
Of hill and sign.
From Collected Poems, 1930–83. Copyright © 1983 by Josephine Miles. Used with permission of the University of Illinois Press.