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i walk from steeple to steeple
regan good
you diagram promises by your advancements
but leave bad things behind -- germy wing.
(world like a large drum beaten by soft things.)
i've 1 unlike the lilies without proper goals,
toiled in wrong ways, it was the wrong difficulty
i sought.
stunning the newborn things, all
these babies baking in their brains or playing
in the 2 in their throes --
the steeples were needle-like in their insistence
that the answer was always up, yet, with gusto
one walks the paved streets under the boiling sun --
(we live in the world with the bird and the whale.)
despite the 3 on the hill; despite the crow --
i watched the movement of the birds exact diligence
of no consequence but description,
heavenly description, of things 4 and feathered,
things flying liquid and high.
they 5 and cluster,
their stained skin hidden from the whorl in my eye.
behind my back -- the 9 rill of woods.
(sun gavels the clouds; rain pounds the underdrum.)
birds are the lilies. the will is the 10. birdsong
over the willsong, one whistles loudly on the bluestone,
especially through long rains, though most hotly in the sun.
one wears it as a crown -- the sun and its wreathing song.
(we are as in a big drum, cold, pale spring, the 11 of an underwing.)
above, birds flying in circles and common-seeming 12.
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