I saw grey geese straining over the flatlands,
Wild geese vibrant in the high air,
Saw them as I feel them, flying
Felt my life stiffened out in their throats–
Iron rocks of the north by the wrinkled sea,
With the spring green corn piercing through,
Ribs of a black boat rotting in the sand,
Ribs of a giant
In the endless, wavering, surfprinted lines of desert dunes. . . .
I saw wild geese flying before sunrise,
And the grey whiteness of them ribboning the enormous skies,
And the spokes of the sun over the crumpled hills. . . .
(Iris Tree)
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