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consciousness
in itself
of itself carrying
'the principle
of the actual' being
actual
itself ((but maybe this is a love
poem
Mary) ) nevertheless
neither
the power
of the self nor the racing
car nor the lilly
is sweet but this
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Veritas sequitur ...
In the small beauty of the forest
The wild deer bedding down—
That they are there!
Their eyes
Effortless, the soft lips
Nuzzle and the alien small teeth
Tear at the grass
The roots of it
Dangle from their mouths
Scattering earth in the strange woods.
They who are there.
Their paths
Nibbled thru the fields, the leaves that shade them
Hang in the distances
Of sun
The small nouns
Crying faith
In this in which the wild deer
Startle, and stare out.
what art and anti-art to lead us by the sharpness
of its definitions connected
to all other things this is the bond
sung to all distances
my distances neither Roman
nor barbarian the sky the low sky
of poems precise
as the low sky
that women have sung from the windows
of cities sun's light
on the sills a poetry
of the narrow
end of the funnel proximity's salt gales in the narrow
end of the funnel the proofs
are the images the images
overwhelming earth
rises up
in its light nostalgia
of the mud guilts
of the foxhole what is a word a name at the
limits
of devotion
to life the terrible knowledge
of deception
a lie told my loves tragically
pitifully had deceived
themselves had been betrayed
demeaned thrown away shamed
degraded
stripped naked Think
think also of the children
the guards laughing
the one pride the pride
of the warrior laughing so the hangman
comes to all dinners Aim
we tell each other the children cannot be
alone whereupon murder
comes to our dinners poem born
of a planet the size
of a table top
garden forest an awning
fluttering four-lane
highway the instant
in the open the moving
edge and one
is I