Enigma

FOUR POEMS

ENIGMA

The swallowed thud of cattle shouldering through

Cool translucent distances of dew;

The blue dawn like a shell warmed by their lowing;

The patter of pigeon-feet on the roof; the rooster crowing;

The tepid interval when pale birds cheep

Beneath their wings; the flutter muffled with sleep;

Crickets on dripping planks; the delighted noises of things

that creep

In subterranean softness: things too small for a name

Moving through private tunnels down to their instant of

flame...

Strange, how beautiful these things are; how these

Things are still beautiful; strange

That our sweet flesh falters, knows ghastly change-

And these things are still beautiful under the hawk-dark

trees!