Here is a symbol in which
Many high tragic thoughts
Watch their own eyes.
I could talk
Two hours past midnight with
My father in the steelworker
Idiom of his city.
The horned things knew
the scent of blood usurping sweet hay
as the woman cracked and sang.
I wish I could say
I lay your body under the honeysuckle
the day you crossed over, let vine and wisp
hang nectar all around you.
Gathered, we watched flames
flickering and drawing us together.
It was hard to pull our eyes away.
Sitting by the fire with a nomadic tribe, a physicist ponders the many shapes of wisdom.
In placid hours well-pleased we dream
Of many a brave unbodied scheme.
But form to lend, pulsed life create,
What unlike things must meet and mate…
Out past the empty barn,
twin Percherons, tall as steeples,
canter across their meadow
to greet my small son and me.