King's Mountain

In all the cities of this year

I have longed for the other city.

In all the rooms of this year

I have entered one red room.

In all the futures I have walked toward

I have seen a future I can hardly name.

But here the road we drive

Turns and enters upon another country.

I have seen white beginnings,

A slow sea without glaze or speed,

Movement of a long lying-down dance.

This is fog-country. Milk. Country of time.

I see your tormented color, the steep front of

your storm

Break dissipated among limitless profiles.

I see the patterns of waves in the cross-sea

Advance, a fog-surface over the fog-floor,

Seamounts, slow-flowing. Colors. Plunge-point

of air.

In all the meanings of this year

There will be the ferny meaning.

It rises leaning and green, streams through star-

lattices ;

After the last cliff, wave-eroded silver,

Forgets the limitations of our love,

These drifts and caves dissolve and pillars of

these countries

Long-crested dissolve to the future, a new form.