These Angles Sharp

I

I shall go,

and soon.

I shall run

From the white streets and the eternal noon,

From the fierce white glare

Of this sun.

Deep into darkness I shall fall

And hear the incredible silence

Creep

Past the thunder of the clock.

I shall crawl under a flat rock.

I shall sleep.

u

Against this emblem of emphatic loneliness,

this barren branch,

this nakedness,

I lean for strength

and curve my body to the winds that blow-

face lifted to a northern sun,

rooted in snow.

m

I know it will end

And I know how it will end

And I know that nothing can turn the course of the wind

When it blows as it's blowing now

North-north-east.

Down to the marrow of my bones

I can feel it,

And my face is wet with the snow,

And I know that the ice will not break

For a hundred million years,

And that death is no less terrible because it is quiet.

IV

These angles sharp I conjure for my sight;

This earth immaculately hewn from stone;

These trees I love, less branch than bone,

And hills that sleep in silver light.

I shape a world to rest my anger on

Of all things hard and motionless:

Cold beneath my hand, and passionless,

This sky of steel I lean upon.